A New Course

The 10K race was held at a local park, the scenic course winding its way around the lake like a ribbon. Back in the early days of autism this park, for me, was both a blessing and a curse. Situated halfway between my house and a friend's, the park was the perfect meeting place for an impromptu play date. Our late afternoon get-togethers served as a respite, time out of the house, away from the endless parade of therapists. Connecting with my friend punctuated those dark days with the tiniest speck of light. As much as I treasured our time together, those play dates stung. Watching my friend's children and Annie laugh and play with one another painfully highlighted Kate's deficits, leaving me defeated, without hope.

The first half of the race was a trip down memory lane of sorts, each landmark awakening a scene from a lifetime ago. The playground where Kate spun in endless circles, alone. The swing set where she threw herself to the ground, enraged that Annie occupied the swing on the right side instead of the left. The path where she bolted away from us, screaming at the top of her lungs. The spot at the edge of the lake where we threw rocks, Kate wading in the frigid water, oblivious. And finally, the bridge Kate attempted to scale only to be pulled to safety in the nick of time.

As I crossed the bridge I picked up my pace, leaving those memories behind. I rounded the bend into an area of the park I had never seen before. My legs burned as I made my way through this uncharted territory. With no memories attached to this path, I couldn't help but feel that we are on a new course, an opportunity for new memories, for new beginnings.

A New Goal

Running has been going fabulously well. So well, in fact, that it's become somewhat of an addiction. I just can't stop. Over the course of April and May I ran 4 5K races and improved my time by nearly 5 minutes from the first race to the most recent. And I am hungry to shave off even more time.

Now that I completed my goal of running a 5K, it is time to tackle something bigger. A 10K. It's not that the 3.1 miles have become too easy. It's just that I need to set a new goal, to move forward, to challenge myself, to continue growing.

Coming Home

Last night marked my return to the running world. Butterflies danced around my stomach with the thought of running again after a near 3 year hiatus. Any thoughts of self-doubt quickly dissapated the moment I laced up my too-new-looking shoes. Slipping into those shoes was like being enveloped in the familiar embrace of an old friend.

The class consisted of a diverse bunch ranging from non-runners to those who had a marathon or two under their belt. Most of us, though, were runners who, for various reasons, had fallen out of touch with running. The class was an opportunity to become reacquainted with the sport, a promise of new beginnings. Once a runner, always a runner.

My feet hit the pavement, surprisingly quick and light. I found my pace, lulled into a zone by the rhythmic cadence of my steps and breathing. 2 breaths in, 2 breaths out.

I can. Do this.
I can. Do this.
I can. Do this.

It was, in a word, exhilarating. Like coming home. And for the first time in my life, I felt like I was not running away from the demons that were chasing me, desperately trying to escape. For the first time in my life, I felt like I was running toward something.