Last weekend was a good one. We headed out to Mt. SAC for 734’s Dad’s second race in the Triple Crown Series. It was a beautiful, clear fall day. It was fun to watch him tear up the course and come through the chicanes by the feed zone right after the pros. He had a good time out there and won his age group. (Yup, I was pretty proud of him.) Once I was done passing out bottles, I got a couple of shots of him finishing the race.
Then it was my turn. There was a nice cushy track a few steps away from the finish line. 734's Dad grabbed the camera for the momentous occasion. I finally got a chance to run again. The past three months has been a lot of trial and error, trying to get the new orthotics dialed in. Couldn't run without 'em. Every time I tried to run with them, I got blisters under my arches. After two adjustments, the third time was the charm.
I was so happy to be out on that track that I ran a mile straight. Then I walked/jogged another mile. Didn’t want to tempt fate too much, doing too much too soon. My cardio definitely suffered the past year, but it felt so incredibly good to break a sweat.
It was a start. Not a false start. A start. I’m looking forward to getting back to that point where I can run for miles without breathing so heavy that I sound like a bad prank caller. I want that sense of peace that comes from moving meditation during solo runs. I want to gab with old friends on group runs. I want to challenge myself with speed work and trail runs. I know all of that will come in time. But just to get out on that faded red track with the painted white lines for twenty minutes was pretty exhilarating.