For the second time this year, a sense of longing weakens me as I watch the people running along the streets. I can’t do that. Another calf muscle tear has set me back a step or two; no longer able to run … right now.
Give it time. Recover. Go for a walk instead.
My runner mindset cringes at the thought of going for a walk. Yay. A walk. It’ll take me twice as long to cover half the distance of my regular run. I won’t even work up a sweat, so it’s barely worth the effort or the time I’ll put into it. Such sour grapes. That’s the runner whining.
My anger soon gets a shot of reality when I think of Jennifer and others living with the same disease I have who only wish they could walk a tenth of the distance as me in 10 times the amount of time. And I wonder if they are weakened by a similar sense of longing every time they watch people walking along the streets. They can’t do that. Time and wicked MS exacerbations set them back a step or two; no longer able to walk … right now.
Take the time. Remember. Fake a smile instead.
I only hope I’ll never know what that’s like.
I pray I can recapture my strength and run. Push myself, train and enter a race. Throw my previous personal-best times out the window and set a new mark for me today. See my name and time in the race results; concrete proof that I still can put my best foot forward and stride across the finish line.
I only wish she could know what that’s like.
For us, I walk on with a renewed sense of grateful determination. And with every step I praise and curse this disease for what it’s doing: forcing us to be content with what we still have left, only to feel guilty for selfishly wanting more.