It's been three years
and three months since the accident
"I'm never going
to run again."
It took me two years
before I could say it out loud.
"I'm never going
to run again."
I said it in therapy
for the first time. My admission was followed by so much emotion I was unable
to speak for several minutes.
"I'm never going
to run again."
Even to this day when
I think about my time in the sun as a runner having ended, I tear up.
Like every distance
runner I was faster in my twenties than I was in my thirties and forties.
Father Time takes from us. Such is the nature of time. In my twenties running
was about speed. I needed to be faster in every race. In my thirties running
was mainly cathartic. I was running to purge and cleanse. In my forties running
was about thanks. At the end of each and every run I gave thanks to the
Universe. I would look up to the heavens and say a prayer of thanks for good
health and the honor and privilege of being able to run, especially in the
forest preserve, most notably, Herrick Lake.
I honestly believe no
one gave more thanks for running than I during that last decade of running. I
loved running. I spent many a mile feeling genuine gratitude during my runs,
especially those runs through the forest preserve. The forest preserve was like
my cathedral. The deer, the birds, the squirrels, the turtles and I were all
part of the congregation. I always felt as if I was in good company at the
forest preserve.
"I'm never going
to run again"
Who am I now?
Who am I now?
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