This post will seem a little melodramatic to those among you who do not run, who have never run or who have never loved a runner. For most of you though, there is some substitute for which you have similar feelings; a yoga mat, your cooking utensils, a paintbrush, a pen. We all have something....
A week ago, I fell and sprained my ankle. There is no cool war story behind it, I just mis-stepped and rolled my ankle. It was excruciating, so much so that I actually went for an x-ray to make sure I didn't fracture one of my metatarsals. No fracture thank goodness, just a sprain. So for the last week I have been faithfully (albeit begrudgingly) "RICE-ing" my poor injured ankle. Each day I would see my faithful running shoes peering at me from under my bed and would give them the cold shoulder in return. "Not today, still hurts too much".
It was only a week but it was a long and grumpy one for me and the people forced to be around me. Since I have been here in Afghanistan, my running shoes and the treadmill have been among my most consistent friends. I lace up my shoes and start running, settling in to the cadence of my feet, of my breath and of my thoughts. I run to deal with my stress and homesickness, for my health, for my heart and my muscles, but most of all I run for my soul and for the woman in the mirror across from me. A week felt like a pretty long time to make her wait.
What I love most about this faithful friend of mine is that after the cold shoulder and the time away, there were my shoes greeting me with open laces...no judging, no grudge, no apologies needed. I wish there were more friends like that in the world.
The Miracle isn't that I finished, it's that I had the courage to start"
John "The Penguin" Bingham
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