The Run Commute--running my way to salvation

I decided to run home from work last night. I was excited about it all day. Maybe the antidepressants are kicking in, or maybe I was just feeling better about getting back to training but who cares?

Aside:
By the way, I'm not going to get into a long drawn-out argument to fight the stigma of antidepressants but they do help some people, especially those with a chemical imbalance. And I would much rather put something into my body that's been through the rigors of clinical trials and FDA approval than something unproven and anecdotal....like herbal remedies. I guess I'm too much of a scientist. Okay, enough of my two cents.

At 5:00, I changed into my running clothes and began the 10+ mile run home. As the miles ticked by, I felt oddly calm and at ease. Something I hadn't felt for a month. Peace. My mind was quiet and blank. No thoughts plagued me. I was a soft oberserver, watching the universe unfold before me, living in the moment. I savored the fleeting moment of flight between each footstep that felt eerily like floating, then sought to repeat the sensation, over and over. Like an infant being rocked to sleep, my footsteps were a lullaby to my troubled mind. I smiled at the other runners, walkers and cyclists around me. They all eagerly smiled back, as if we all knew the secret we shared. I watched the line of cars, crawling on the freeway. Even though it would take me longer to get home on foot than by car today, time would elapse in the blink of an eye. I drank in the waves rolling onto the beach, softly crashing into white foam like soap bubbles. I watched the sunset surfers riding the final waves to shore before darkness consumed them.

My toes began to blister. Sharp pain stabbed my feet, reminding me of the blood blister on the bottom of my big toe from running barefoot in the sand the week before. I ignored the physical pain easily. A small price to pay to be free from the inner turmoil that had been churning within. After mile 7, my body began to protest. Afterall, my longest run for the last month had been 4 miles. I kept pushing. My hips began to lock up, shortening my stride considerably. I kept pushing through. The pain didn't bother me. The slower pace my legs were reduced to didn't bother me. As long as I could keep moving forward. At mile 9, I thought I was going to die. Luckily, I could see the bridge leading towards home. Not much longer.

And then, I had made it. I hobbled towards the house. My body was not happy but my mind was free and my soul was blissful. As I sank into my ice bath upstairs, I smiled. I'm thankful my body could withstand the punishment I needed to feel happy. Time to get back into shape!