It’s a declaration.
But it could also be a question.
My shoes, thrown aimlessly upon the floor, recovering from their last bout on the terrain, are reminders that I must go again.
To be fit. To look good naked. To wear sexy lingerie for a stranger, for the man of your dreams. For the one, or many you desire. To get your pants to fit. To get your pants on, period. To shake away the hatred you have for yourself.
To prove that you are not weak. That your mind is strong. Your mind? Yes. Your mind. In running, your mind is either your ally or your enemy. It can tackle you standing if you’re not careful but it can also help you to rise above. Run to prove to yourself that you can do the one thing you never thought possible.
Because the starting line is like chocolate cake, incredibly tempting and deeply addicting. Because to cross the finish is like a drug. Because you will never forget your first time. Because you will carry that moment with you, always.
It will inspire others. Help you to come together. Form a team. You will feel like sisters or brothers. You will climb mountains. You will sweat. You will cry. Sometimes good. Sometimes bad. Dig deep. Run through it.
For some, it’s not a choice. It’s a path we take. It chooses us. If you are one of those people and it flickers brightly or even dimly, you must not avoid it. It’s like a hungry child. You need to feed it. If you have it, it’s a gift. To turn your back to it is a sin.
For those in wheelchairs.
For those who are dead.
For those who once did but now can’t.
Don’t turn your back on them.
Take to the pavement. In small steps or large ones.
For those who wish they could.