A terrible morning run on Saturday spiraled into a terrible mood for the remainder of the day. I couldn't find my rhythm throughout the run. It was hot and humid. The path I was running was crowded. My shoes weren't laced properly. My phone rang multiple times. I stopped to walk more times than I care to remember. I was only trying to pound out 3-ish miles, but every step was torture, and I felt absolutely defeated by the time I returned to my front door.
There are good days and bad days in all of life. Why should running be any different? But it seems particularly frustrating to have a bad run since my run is my "me" time, my chance to regroup so that I can conquer the rest of the day's tasks. When the run is sour, I come home crabby, frustrated with my body and my brain, and unfortunately, my family gets caught in the crossfire.
Fast forward (past the crabbing and the apologies) to Monday: I returned to the road and was rewarded with a beautiful run. It was insanely humid (my palms were slick the entire run just from the moisture in the air!), but oddly, that did not faze me at all. I quickly found my rhythm and ended up running further than I had planned simply because I was having fun. My brain was quiet, my body in sync, and all felt right with the world.
The difference between the two runs was incredible. While nothing felt right on Saturday, the world was my oyster on Monday. It serves as a good reminder that not every run will be great, but I can appreciate the good runs because I survived the bad ones. Yet another way that running is a perfect metaphor for life...
