Life

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The Heat That Broke Me

The heat was always there.

Not just in the air — though Alabama summers made sure of that — but in life. A thick, heavy kind of pressure that clung to everything. By the time I got home from work each day, I didn’t just feel tired. I felt buried. Not by tasks or to-do lists, but by the weight of holding everything together.

And then I ran.

The routine was the same: pull into the driveway, step inside, pet the dog, greet the family, change clothes, step back out. The sun was still high. The air was still thick. My body was still tired. But I ran anyway. Up the hill. To the lamppost. And back.

The heat made it harder. It slowed my steps and stole my breath. It exposed weakness. But it also revealed something I didn’t expect — endurance.

Running through the heat wasn’t just about training my body. It was about testing my will. It reminded me that faithfulness isn’t proved in ease — it’s proved in resistance. That’s where the real work happens. That’s where habits are born, not in the comfort of ideal conditions, but in the grit of days when everything inside says, not today.

But during this season, another kind of heat began building inside me — one I wasn’t handling well. The stress at work was constant. There were relationships that wore me down. My thoughts rarely slowed, and by the time the run was over, I still needed an escape.

That’s when I started drinking again.

I hadn’t touched alcohol since college, not since I became a Christian. I gave it up back then as part of my surrender to God. So when I found myself reaching for it again, years later, it felt defeating. I knew it was a step backward. I knew I should’ve turned to God for help. But the pull was strong, and once I started, I couldn’t seem to stop.

At first, no one knew. I drank after my runs, quietly. It felt like relief — like a way to slow down the storm in my head. But I knew it was wrong. I felt the guilt, especially as someone who had walked with God for years. I told myself I could manage it. That it wasn’t that bad. But deep down, I knew better.

There was a moment that shook me — the day I came home from a run, poured a drink, and had an issue with our dog not coming inside. I went out to try to bring her in, but I was already tired, already loosened by the alcohol. I slipped into a hole in the yard. My quad was tight from the run, and when I fell, my knee went forward while my body went back. I tore the tendon between my quad and my knee.

The injury took me out of running for months. It should have been a turning point. I knew the drinking had played a role. That moment — painful and sobering — was a wake-up call. But even then, I wasn’t ready to let go. I knew I couldn’t keep walking two paths, but I wasn’t yet willing to fully surrender one of them.

Still, I didn’t stop right away. The drinking would continue for nearly a decade. I tried to quit. I wanted to. But the more I tried, the more it seemed to own me. Eventually, I did get help. I went to rehab. And God met me in that place, too. But even before that, in the years when I couldn’t find my way out, I kept running.

Running became a kind of truth-telling. It was honest. Unforgiving, but clear. I could fake a lot of things in my life. But I couldn’t fake a run. It kept me grounded, even when the rest of me was slipping.

And through all of it — the heat, the guilt, the injury, the shame — God never left. My family kept loving me. God kept pursuing me.

The heat showed me what I was made of — and what I wasn’t. It burned away illusions. And what was left? A man still trying. Still hurting. But still running.

The heat on the outside forced me to move. The heat on the inside forced me to face myself. Both were exhausting. But both were necessary.

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Learning the Rhythm (The Hill, the Heat, and the Lamppost)

There was a lamppost at the top of a hill.

It wasn’t grand or symbolic, just a plain old wooden post at the end of a quiet street near my house. But for weeks, and then months, it became the center of my discipline. My turnaround point. My finish line. My proof that I had done what I said I would do.

Every run started with the same goal: reach that lamppost. Touch it. Turn around. Make it home.

I didn’t love running. Not at first.

Especially not in the Alabama heat—thick, humid, relentless. But I ran anyway. Not because it felt good, but because I knew if I didn’t go right then, I probably wouldn’t go at all.

My workdays were full. I was in IT, overseeing systems for our company. It was demanding, and I enjoyed it, but it wore me out. By the time I pulled into the driveway each evening, I was tired. Not the kind of tired that makes you want to go for a run—the kind that makes you want to collapse on the couch and disappear into dinner, TV, and bed.

But instead, I walked in the door, said hello to everyone, pet the dog, changed into my running clothes, and walked right back outside. That rhythm—day after day, same time, same steps—was everything.

It didn’t matter if it was ninety-five degrees or if my body begged for a break. I had to go. Because I wasn’t just trying to lose weight anymore, I was building something. Something deeper. And to build it, I needed consistency.

At first, I stuck to a simple route: from my house to that lamppost and back. One mile out. One mile home. The hill leading up to it burned every time. Some days it felt like a mountain. But I’d push to the top, touch the post, and know: I didn’t quit.

That lamppost became more than a destination. It became a line in my day. A marker of effort. A quiet kind of altar where I laid down excuses and picked up a little more grit.

My family noticed.

My wife and kids knew I had just come home from work, but they gave me that space. They knew I needed it. They encouraged it. And when race days came—5Ks on early Saturday mornings—they were there. Cheering. Smiling. Making it fun. That meant everything.

But most of the time, it wasn’t about races. It was just me and the pavement. Day after day. One step at a time.

Over time, the run became more than exercise. It became a boundary, a line in the day between everything I had carried and everything I still hoped for. It was where I reset. Where I pushed through the tension of work and fatigue and stress. And in that rhythm, I started to feel something I hadn’t felt in a long time: control.

Not over everything. But over something.

The repetition shaped me.

Not just physically—though the weight was slowly coming off—but mentally, emotionally, spiritually. My energy improved. I started sleeping better. I felt lighter. More focused. Even a little more confident.

And I started noticing changes outside of running, too. I was more organized at work. More present at home. More grounded in my choices. What I ate. When I went to bed. How I prayed. It all started to line up.

The discipline I found on the road spilled into the rest of my life.

There’s a strength that comes from doing the hard thing when you don’t feel like it. A kind of steady muscle that builds when you say, I don’t want to, but I will.

That’s what running after work taught me. It taught me to build a life on follow-through. On rhythm. On showing up, especially when it’s not easy.

God didn’t meet me in fireworks or breakthroughs. He met me at the lamppost. In that quiet decision: to run up the hill, touch the post, and come home. To try again the next day. And the one after that.

That’s where the foundation was laid. Not in one big transformation, but in the rhythm of a thousand small choices.

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I Can Fix You – The beginning of the Journey

“I can fix you.”

That’s what the doctor said—straight-faced, out of nowhere, and completely unexpected.

We were at the doctor’s office for my wife—a weight loss appointment, not mine. Nothing urgent. Nothing about me. I was simply the guy in the corner chair, tagging along. But in that moment, everything shifted. Just a regular visit, nothing urgent. I sat in the corner of the exam room, trying to be supportive, polite, quiet. That’s what husbands do, right? I was tired, but I was always tired. Tired felt normal by then.

The doctor came in, greeted her, and started the usual routine. He asked about symptoms, checked vitals, tapped some notes into the chart. I wasn’t expecting anything. This had nothing to do with me.

But then he looked up—past her—and saw me.

He looked at me directly. Not casually, not out of curiosity, but with a kind of stillness. He asked a few questions—nothing invasive. Then, without hesitation, he said:

“I can fix you.”

That’s what he said. Calm. Direct. No build-up, no preamble. Just that.

I laughed a little—awkward, defensive. Me? I wasn’t the one on the table. But deep down, I was frozen. Shocked. And if I’m honest… something in me sparked. Just barely.

Because I had given up.

I’d tried to lose weight more times than I could count. Every diet, every plan. The weight always came back—plus some. It had been climbing steadily since college, a twenty-year upward slope that felt irreversible. I had reached 278 pounds. I didn’t see a way back. And somewhere along the line, I had stopped hoping there could be one.

That doctor didn’t know any of that. He didn’t know the quiet desperation under my smile, or how much effort it took just to sit down and get back up. He didn’t know how many times I’d avoided mirrors or cameras or stairs. He just looked at me and saw something I couldn’t: a man who wasn’t beyond help.

And he said it again. Gently, but firmly.

“I can fix you.”

I left that appointment quiet. Skeptical, yes—but also different. Not transformed. Not suddenly motivated or enlightened. Just aware. Aware that maybe the story I’d accepted about myself wasn’t the only one that could be told.

Because the truth is, I wasn’t in a good place—not just physically, but emotionally. Life had been hard. There had been pain with family, stress at work, tension in the home. I had responsibilities and a good heart, but my body was heavy, my mind was worn down, and I couldn’t remember the last time I truly felt good—really good—in my own skin.

I still had faith. That was never in question. Ever since the summer I told God “I love you” for the first time, I’d never doubted my salvation or His presence in my life. But that doesn’t mean I was okay.

Even strong faith can get buried under the weight of years.

I didn’t know it then, but that doctor’s comment—so simple, so unexpected—was the first crack in the shell I’d been carrying. The first step in a journey I hadn’t even begun to imagine yet. One that would lead to miles on the pavement, habits I never thought I’d build, and a kind of freedom I had almost forgotten existed.

It didn’t start with a run.
It didn’t even start with a decision.

It started with a sentence.
It started with a whisper of hope.

And long before I ever laced up a pair of running shoes, God had already been laying the foundation. The roots of transformation go deeper than the weight. They go all the way back—to childhood, to calling, to faith.

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Part I: The First Miles

When I first stepped outside to run, I wasn’t chasing a goal. I was testing a hope.

I had already lost 50 pounds, but I still carried the weight — physically, yes, but also mentally. There’s a kind of heaviness that doesn’t show up on a scale. Years of unhealthy habits, of shame, of feeling like I’d never get it right. That’s the weight I carried to the starting line. Not of a race — but of a quiet street in my neighborhood on an ordinary afternoon after work.

I remember standing at the edge of the driveway, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt that didn’t quite fit. I didn’t look like a runner. I didn’t feel like one either. But I had a small goal: run two miles without stopping.

It felt impossible and I didn’t make it. I ran one and a half miles and walked home. That was okay though. When I tried running 50 pounds heavier, I only got a quarter mile before I quit. So for me, one and a half miles was a win. 

The sun was still high, and the Alabama humidity clung to everything. I had just gotten off work — tired, drained, with every excuse in the world not to run. But something in me knew that if I didn’t go then, I wouldn’t go at all. So I started. Slowly. Awkwardly. Each step a mix of effort and embarrassment.

About a half mile in, my body was already protesting. My legs were tight, my breathing ragged. People passed me in their cars, and I imagined what they must be thinking. But I kept moving. Step by step. Breath by breath. And somewhere around the halfway point, a strange thing happened: I realized I wasn’t going to quit.

I wasn’t fast. I wasn’t strong. But I was moving — and I wasn’t going to stop.

That run didn’t change my life in one big cinematic moment. What it did was give me something I hadn’t felt in a long time: momentum. Not just the physical kind, but the kind that happens when you do something hard and realize you’re capable of more than you thought.

And then I did it again the next day. And the day after that.

My runs became a rhythm — not in the sense of easy repetition, but in the way they began to structure my life. I’d get home from work, change clothes, stretch out muscles that still complained, and hit the pavement. It became part of my day, like brushing my teeth or eating dinner. It became a habit.

That’s what changed everything.

I didn’t suddenly love running. In fact, for the first few weeks, I kind of hated it. Every afternoon, my body argued with me. But I kept showing up. Not because I was strong, but because I was learning the strength of consistency. I was building something, mile by slow mile. My body was changing — yes — but more importantly, my mindset was shifting.

This is where I began to understand the power of habits.

God didn’t meet me in a lightning bolt moment of transformation. He met me in the small choices. In the uncomfortable, sweaty, ordinary afternoons. When I ran even though I didn’t want to. When I chose grilled chicken over pizza. When I went to bed early so I could be sharper the next day. Habits became training grounds for growth. They were where grace and discipline met.

Those early runs didn’t give me Boston, in fact, at that time I hadn’t even thought about Boston. That said, they gave me something better: the realization that change wasn’t about intensity — it was about intention. About returning to the road day after day and trusting that what I was doing mattered, even if it didn’t feel heroic.

And slowly, things did start to change.

I was sleeping better. My energy improved. I felt lighter — not just physically, but emotionally. My confidence grew, even if only a little. My kids started asking me how my runs went. My wife noticed I was smiling more. And somewhere deep inside, I began to believe that maybe — just maybe — I could do this.

I could be the man who finishes something. Who shows up. Who runs.

And something else started to shift.

This rhythm of running — of lacing up my shoes every afternoon and doing the work — began to spill over into other parts of my life. I hadn’t planned on that. But it happened, almost without me noticing at first. Because when you commit to something hard and keep showing up, that commitment starts to shape you.

Suddenly, I was more organized at work. I was more present at home. I started sticking to other good habits — eating cleaner, drinking a lot of water, praying more regularly, even sleeping better. There was a momentum that bled outward from those afternoon runs. Running wasn’t just something I did. It was setting the tone for the man I was becoming and going to become.

Consistency in one area gave me clarity in others. The discipline it took to run when I didn’t feel like it made it easier to resist other compromises. I wasn’t perfect — far from it — but I was becoming faithful in the small things. And in that faithfulness, I was finding something important. A rhythm. A structure. A grace.

It felt like God was using these runs not just to change my body, but to build a foundation — brick by brick, habit by habit — for a life that was stronger, steadier, and more grounded than the one I had before.

I didn’t know it then, but I was laying down the tracks for the rest of the journey.

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Life is too short!

One month ago today I began my current journey into this new phase of my life. I chose to keep drinking through the day before and then just head out and get this new life going.

I have writing many times here is my time in detox, but I still I feel it was the best part of this journey so far in the sense of forcing me on this path of sobriety. Although I didn’t know that it was a mental health hospital, it was really perfect for me. I had 4 days of living a routine where everything about my life was decided for me. And after the initial shock, I loved it. I never thought of having a drink, I had doctors to talk with everyday and people that I could observe and talk with and as much time to sit and do my Sudoku as I wanted. Looking back, even a month later, it was awesome for me. Now had you asked me ahead if I wanted to go, I would have said, “No”.

Today is the 16h, my month long anniversary of sobriety. Yay, one month. I have never had the urge to drink so far. There were times that if I hadn’t taken the measures I did, I would have probably wanted a drink. Mainly those measures are that my lovely wife gives me my meds every night that prevent me from drinking. If I take these meds and then do have a drink (within a week) I get violently Ill. Out of the desire to not puke my guts out, I choose not to drink. I told my primary care doctor our arrangement and he agreed that our arrangement was best. He said that those who give themselves their own meds have a much bigger temptation to stop at some point and get back to drinking. He said if you have someone to make you accountable, you will stick with it up to and including forever.

So now I’m at 1 month on and soon 2 months and then a year and then 10 years. I never plan on drinking again as there will always be a question of where it would lead and I never want to get back to where I was.

Time is too short

In many ways time is too short to drink. While I used to drink each evening, I didn’t have a care in the world. I’d watch news or some show that was mindless because it really didn’t matter what I watched. I really didn’t have the need for social interaction, so my relationship with my lovely wife got much less attention, unless she initiated it. But time is too short for that now. Quality of life is important.

There are many changes coming up. I begin back at work full time next week. It has been nice only working half days, but those are coming to an end. It will be interesting to see how things progress once I get back.

I want to fill my afternoons with more than sitting around the house, especially now the Fall is around the corner. I’m hoping for walked and runs, etc and time outside with our doggos and my lovely wife.

There is more to life than what I have planned. I’m excited to see what is around the corner!

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Summer running

The heat, my goodness how am I going to run in this heat?

That was my thought yesterday afternoon as I headed out in 100+ heat index for my run.

I learned last year that running in the heat is an acquired trait.  It is similar to running at a high altitude.  The reason being that the body sends extra blood flow to the skin to cool itself down.  This flow takes away from the blood flow that it is used to using during a run to give energy and help muscles.  Therefore running in the heat is sometimes similar to running through mud.

Fortunately, eventually as with running at a high altitude, the body compensates for this extra blood needed to cool itself by creating more blood (I think I have this correct, but I am about as far from a doctor as you want to get).  So after a few weeks of running through mud, runs get easier and this can actuality help you run more efficiently in cooler weather.

I haven’t been running much lately.  Just life getting in the way.  Yesterday I went out and felt okay.  It as HOT, but I ran the first two miles well.  I left my Pebble watch at home so that I wouldn’t be looking much at my pace.

By mile 3 I melted.  I went from an 8:30 average pace to a 10:00 pace and had to walk about every half mile for a minute or two.  Last year this would have devastated me.  Not only did I not understand what was happening to my body as it got hotter, but I also began training for my first marathon in this heat.  What a mess.  Yesterday though, I took it easy.  No pressure.  I know now that I have to take some time to get used to this heat and build up some endurance.

In the end, all will be well.  Summer will fade into Fall and running will become fun again.  Football will begin and my favorite time of year will make an appearance.  Here in the South the weather won’t turn cool until the last half of October, so I will just have to push through until then.

It is similar to life.  Sometimes life is like running through mud.  Those days make us stronger and then when the good times come, we appreciate them all the more.

Tom

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The “Key” to Running Better

Over the past 20 years or so of my life, I have found out that in almost every difficult situation there is a “key” to making change happen.

What I am alluding to is that, for example, circumstances that are difficult in life can be like being in a pitch back room and continually running into walls with no way out.  The thing is that there is a door and a key to open that door near you .  All you need to know is how to get the key to turn and the door will open and things will suddenly work out.

This sounds philosophical, but honestly it is amazing how this works in everyday life, including running.

An example from my running life is the mountain I run.  I ran several times to the base of the mountain and at the left turn that went up the mountain, I turned around and went the other direction.  I got so close, but I didn’t know that the key to the door of running fast, more efficient and with less injury, was literally a left turn away from me.  It was like I was in a dark room with a door and a key, but I never unlocked that door and walked through until… one day with TJ.  We decided to see where that road went.  That left turn was the key that changed my running life in a way that nothing else has ever done!

Another example is Apple Cider Vinegar (ACV).  I wrote about this on this blog a month or two ago several times.  Not only has it helped my running in the afternoons by giving me something I had to have been missing, but over the past two months, my weight, which had plateaued at 192, has gone down 7 lbs to 185.  Even pizza night doesn’t seem to affect me much anymore.

I could go on and on.  In just about every area of my life this principle has helped.  I constantly pray for wisdom so that I can find the keys to shut doors in my life.

I guess I hope that there may be keys in your life to open doors to which you just haven’t paid attention.  It is an amazing feeling to find a key and suddenly realize there is a simple solution to a complex problem and it has been right in front of you!

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My life, my running, and stuff you never knew about me

I write a running blog.

Most of the time, all I write about is something to do with running.  Something related to running.  Something/anything I can relate to and want others to relate to.  I write about a tiny slice of my day.  I have written a post for this blog about 90% of the days since I started… Just about running.

Ideas can be difficult to come up with. Sometimes when I run I think of what I will write the next morning.  Hmmm, there is a pain in my left foot… A blog post was born!

One of the consequences of magnifying a single part of my life is that people get the impression that this is all of my life.  If I am hurt and writing about my depression of not running, then people get the impression that all I am all day is depressed and hurt.

There are 23.5 hours of the day that I never write about.  Sometimes I’ll include some personal stuff in my blog, but that is rare and when I do it is usually related to my running.

So I decided to write some random personal things about myself that I don’t think I have written about before, or that people who are new to my blog don’t really know unless they have gone over the 300+ posts from the past year (and I don’t think they have).  Also this is in part accepting the Sunshine award that runningtoherdreams gave me last weekend.  Thank you.  It means so much.  It made me think of putting just a little about myself “out there” and I hope people read her blog.  It was one of the inspirations that got me to my marathon last August.

Here we go:

I was born the youngest of 4 children.

I am now the youngest of 3 living children as my sister passed away in a cave diving accident.

My mom went into labor with me at a Penn State football game.

I was born with hips that turned in so severely that I spent a long time with corrective shoes and a bar between my feet.

I could hear when I was born, but soon lost my hearing. My adenoids grew and blocked my hearing.  Since I could hear for some time, I learned to read lips, so no one caught on that I couldn’t hear.  One day when I was 4 years old my mom put me on her lap, facing away from her and asked me if I wanted ice cream.  I didn’t make a move (I’ve always loved ice cream).  My speaking was so poor that my late sister was the only one who could understand me.  So after lots of tests and a surgery, I woke up from the anesthetics and the first thing I said was, “I can hear”.

I lived in a small town in Pennsylvania.  We left our doors unlocked and open when we left the house.  Us kids would all play at the other kids house and vice versa.  It was a good childhood.

We moved to Northern Va. (Mt. Vernon area) when I was in high school.  George Washington used to fox hunt in the backyard of the home my parents bought (long before I was born ). 🙂

I used to race sailboats with my mom and dad on the Potomac.  We won many trophies over those few years.

I was a messed up kid from the time we moved to DC (age 15) until after my freshman year of college.  During that summer after my freshman year I became a Christian (that story is under my “Faith” tab) and my life has never been the same.

I am married with lots of kids.  They are almost all grown (no more child tax credits), and have all turned out to be honorable, good children.

I have been an evangelical Protestant Christian my whole Christian life, and am becoming Catholic on Easter this year.

Although life has thrown in some challenges over the past few years, I am so thankful and grateful for my life, my family and my work.  I couldn’t have created a better life for me if I was the one creating it.

The day Joe Paterno got fired from Penn State, I was going to have wrist surgery, I weighed almost 300 lbs, I couldn’t get my wedding ring off and they threatened to cut it off, so my Lovely Wife “helped” me get it off.  Hmmm. That hurt.

I lost 100 lbs in under a year.

Running is a big deal to me because it has allowed me to do so much more in my life since I stated.  It was almost 2 years ago when  I ran my first 1.5 miles.  I have run many 5K’s a half marathon and a marathon since then.  I enjoy the outdoors for the first time since I was a child.  I am in great shape for the first time ever in my life.  Since the age of 49, my life has been more impacted from running than almost anything else.

Okay, I’m done.  I guess I wanted those who read this to know that running isn’t everything.  It is just a thing God has used to add value to my life and give me experiences that I never thought I would have.  One day when I finish this ultimate race I am running called life, I will look back and be in awe over my “midlife crisis” called running.

Thank you all for being a part of it.

Tom

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An unexpected consequence of being a runner

I love running.

Okay, when I am out there and it is really cold or really hot or I just don’t feel good, running can be a chore.

What I love most about running is the freedom that it gives me.  An unexpected consequence of being a runner.

Last Saturday was a rough day.  In fact it was a difficult week overall, it just came to a head on Saturday.  I needed to get away.  A couple of years ago that would have entailed driving to Walmart and surrounding stores and walking through the isles of stuff.  Not this time.  Instead, I walked.  In fact I turned off my phone and walked for hours.  I walked on a trail I have run before, but never actually just took the time to look at the surroundings.  It was really cool.  Waterfalls, beaver dams and quietness.

I realized that day that because of my running I could walk as far as I wanted and not worry about how to make it home.  I was able to just go and be free.  It was awesome.

The other time this “consequence of running” occurred to me was this week while shut in at work for two days because of the snow.  I was able to spend hours outside helping people get their cars going.  I walked miles to the pharmacy to pick up meds for a coworker (and buy toothbrushes).  I never once thought, “can I make it back?”  I had freedom.  Who needs a car!

So if you are debating if you should start running or you are a runner and are trying to encourage others to run, remember what I learned.  There is a lot of freedom in life once the chains of poor physical fitness are removed.  Once you run 26.2 miles, it dawns on you that if needed, you can walk the 23 miles home in an emergency.

Freedom.  A basic instinct.  One that I am glad I received almost 2 years ago when I started running.

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Runner’s mood boost

I ran yesterday.  The first non-stop run since my SI joint acted up last Tuesday.

All in all I’d say it was a good run.  I didn’t push myself as I didn’t want to get hurt again.  At this point, I’d rather run slow then not run at all.  I think my family agrees as I seem to be addicted to endorphins.  When I can’t run, I get just a bit grumpy.  I’ve never been one to get a runner’s high, at least not that I’ve noticed.  I can notice though, that if I don’t run I just seem more moody and angry at the world.  Fortunately I am a pretty laid back person, so I can hold in most of my frustration. It is amazing though how I miss that ability to get my frustrations out while on a run.  I guess I get a runner’s mood boost rather than a runner’s high.  Either way, it really helps.

So my running yesterday was a good thing for everyone.  I ran in my old Saucony Mirage shoes.  I am trying to get away from my Fastwitch shoes because I think they might be some of the reason for my injuries.  I am a heavy runner and they are basically a racing flat.  The Mirage are much more built up and steady.  The Mirage I ran in yesterday also only have about 100 miles on them, so they have plenty of time left on them.  I will be going to my Brooks PureFlow 2 after I get over my SI joint issue.  I don’t want to introduce another variable into my running until I know I am well.

Back to my run.  I got in 3 miles at about a 9:30 pace.  My hip felt a little strange.  It didn’t hurt, but it did feel like it wanted to turn inward as I ran.

Today I am going to walk a mile before my run.  I hope that will loosen me up more and remove any stiffness.

I guess running has become a way of life.  I never thought I’d become so dependent on it, but I’m glad I am!

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How do you deal with a bad day when you can’t run?

Yesterday was a particularly rough day.  It was one of those days where you know that a good run is “better than therapy”.   One of those days where you would barely get out of the door with your running gear on before you are off running as hard as you can just to get the junk out of your head.

For me, yesterday was a day of frustration.  Yes, the day was difficult, but the frustrating part of the day was the fact I can’t run until Friday.

Seriously?!?

I could have set a PR.  I could have run so hard and so long.  I could have run off the day.  I could have saved my mind and my body a lot of stress if I could just have gone for a run.

I walked.

I walked for hours.

I walked along highways with no shoulders.  At times I was inches from cars on a two lane road.  I had to leave the neighborhood and there aren’t many areas to walk nearby and I didn’t want to drive somewhere.  I was careful though and most of the time stayed a few feet from the traffic.  Cars were considerate and moved over for me when they could.  At one point I slipped on pine straw, but I caught myself and was fine.

Finally after miles of walking I headed home.  This walk helped.  I’m glad I could walk and I am thankful I am in shape.  I had no fear of doing “too much”.  I just walked off my day.

I miss my running.  I think some of my problems from the day was the fact I haven’t really run much in the past month.  I was hurt the week before my marathon so I didn’t run.  I was too sore to run (or even walk) the week after my marathon.  Now I had to take a week off for other reasons.  I guess I’m having endorphin withdrawal.  🙂

Tomorrow my hiatus from running is over.  I can run as much as I want.  I already have a 6 mile run planned with my friend Neill on Saturday.  I’m looking forward to that.

We take so much for granted in this life.  I never knew how much of my mental well-being was tied up in running.  I never knew until yesterday how much I NEED running.  I have been transformed into a runner and I cannot go back.