You may have noticed I haven’t written in a while. Almost 3 weeks ago, I joined the local YMCA, and Noah has started soccer for the first time ever. Not to mention we’ve actually had some warmish weather which when you have 3 boys absolutely REQUIRES time outdoors. So, needless to say, it’s been busy around here.
But the good kind of busy. The busy that includes….duh, duh, da-duh!…starting running intervals!
I’ll be honest, running for 60 seconds at a time is hard for me. I haven’t run since I was in high school, I think. But it’s so good, too. At the end of a session, when I’m still walking on the treadmill with sweat pouring down my face and music in my ears, I inevitably begin to cry. It’s not that I’m sad, though I am sad that Joey’s not here to see this. But I am overwhelmed with bittersweet pride that I am becoming a better version of me…because of him.
For me running, even in 60 second bursts, is the beginning of the Phoenix rising from the ashes. I have been in mourning; I am in mourning still, but there is hope, hope for the day when I run that first 5k race, Joey’s ashes around my neck, knowing that our adventures together aren’t over.