Relief in the run

For years I've been defined by myself, and by many standards, as a runner.

In periods where I can't run when my body doesn't cooperate, I'm impossible.

Thirty-six hours ago, I e-mailed my physical therapist, demanding he tell me how to fix the creeping groin issue that kept me from sitting comfortably, much less walking wince-free, much less anything stronger.  He returned fire to advise that flare-ups are normal, even when a condition is improving, and that I should just keep stretching as we had done for many weeks ... and furthermore, I should chill out.

Thanks, Ian.  But this I most certainly could not do.  Insomnia the last 2 nights would attest to it and the restless eating of much Kashi GoLean, always the tell-tale sign, would seal it.

A relief, then, to enroll in a race like tonight's Corporate Challenge and just. do. it. 

To remember what sub-8:30 miles feel like. To sweat in streams, soaked-through and smelly.  To skitter in gutters and on and off curbs and dodge past walkers.  To trample boulevards on Commonwealth Avenue in order to stay unfettered by those slower runners, maintaining a tempo that feels good in the thighs and the knees, with no trace of the ankle complaints that have dominated these last 7 weeks.  

(Where did they go, pray? Did the sunshine -- appearing just before race time after weeks of cold damp -- loosen and soothe the joints?  Will they show up tomorrow, and a stiff back too, when the clouds roll back in?)

I'm a runner, but I'm also known as a pianist. A singer. A writer.  A biker. A soother of wealthy individuals who don't like paperwork or down-markets. A yoga-craver.  A rambling public speaker.  A flake, constantly 6 minutes late for everything and constantly apologizing.

Yet it is running (and sort of losing the ability to do it before sort of getting it back, at least for 29.2 minutes tonight) that produces more of a high than any of these.  

Scary how much I've come to depend on it and crave its benefits to feel worthwhile.  Especially when I know bodies do nothing but get older, and how definitely finite such physical splendor can be.