Tonight I had a flashback: a few years ago a friend invited me to join her on an Annandale to ANZAC Bridge circuit run. I immediately and irrefutably declined. At the time it seemed an incomprehensible challenge. I could not propel my 110 kilogram bulk to jog even a couple of kilometres. I'd be puffed just walking up a moderate hill. I was in awe of her running ability, and had lost all hope in mine.
|View to Sydney Harbour Bridge from ANZAC Bridge|
Tonight, I breezed around exactly the same 9.5 kilometre circuit. It has only been 9 months since I commenced running regularly. First for just a few hundred meters, then a kilometre, then two ... Now, I can knock out a 10 kilometre run after work and barely break a sweat. It feels so easy. This, I thought to myself, is pretty damn amazing.
And what a pleasure running is, on so many levels. The feeling of lightness and springiness in my body. Being out in the crisp winter night's air. The view of the city lights reflected onto the black, mirror-smooth water. The energy pulsing through my veins. The Who Live at Leeds pulsing through my ear buds.
Thank you running. I feel reborn.