Once upon a time, I was a badass.
I ran a sub-2 half-marathon on one of Seattle’s hottest days.
I jumped over fire.
I took on a triathlon without really knowing how to swim.
And I ran the shit out of a 4:15 marathon.
I haven’t run in 16 days.
I probably couldn’t run more than 5 miles, and even that would be a struggle.
I’ve lost so much muscle.
I’ve put on a good 10-15 pounds (I don’t even wanna know).
And I probably couldn’t do any of that stuff that used to make me so proud.
All of this is due to traveling the world. Lacking a routine and fitness goals.
I traded one set of dreams for another, I suppose.
Looking backward, I hardly recognize the strong, fit, determined person above.
But looking forward, I see her again.
My future holds many things.
A sub-4 marathon.
Those dreams are still there — just on the back-burner for now.
I’ll have to start over, but I’ve done that before.
18 months before my first marathon, I could barely run a mile.
But I’ve run hundreds of miles since then, and traveled many thousands.
I trust that my body will remember what to do.
My mind is the one that will have to get off the hammock and focus.
With the help of my heart, which constantly aches to lace up and hit the road.
We’ll get back on track when I return home in May.
Together, we’ll answer the call that echoes from my former days of badassery.
Do. Not. Stop.