It’s been two years since I’ve done any races. It’s been two years since Chicago Marathon.
Until today.
Initially I wanted to give myself one year. One year without any big races. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but something just wasn’t sitting right with me.
Like I was starting to use the races as an excuse to exercise, excessively. Yes – each race taught me something invaluable about myself and how to approach life, and I wouldn’t change a thing.
But it was after Chicago that I felt something twinge. I felt like something needed shifting. I wasn’t totally sure what it was. But I knew I needed to take a step back.
I knew that – while I was nearly 10 years in recovery from my eating disorder – some old habits were coming back to haunt me.
My old habits were (not so) thinly disguised in my love affair with endurance races: anything from a 10K to an Ironman and everything in between.
Shortly after letting go of my desire to click “Register” on anything and everything my wallet could endure, it dawned on me what I wanted:
I wanted to run/bike/swim/move again with a different approach.
I wanted to be able to run a race not so I could eat an extra piece of pizza (or pizza all week).
I wanted to run a race to celebrate my body and celebrate life.
Last night just before bed I was walking Daisy and on the phone with my friend Emily who decided to join us and go up to New Haven to run the Half Marathon. I decided then that I’d run the 5k the next morning. Simple, short, and sweet.
I had no expectations. I had a pretty good feeling I’d finish. And – bonus – I got to spend the morning with some pretty swell people I love.
In my imagination I saw my “coming out” {of race retirement} race as a big to do. At the very least a half marathon or an Olympic distance triathlon that I’d spend months training for (and probably blogging about in anticipation).
I joked to Emily when I agreed to doing the 5k that it would be my coming out of retirement race.
But what I felt this morning, running the 3.1 miles, far exceeded my wildest dreams.
I realized that over these last two years I have finely curated or crafted (can I even say that?) a fresh, lovely, deep-hearted, spirited, compassionate relationship to movement. In this instance to movement of the more intense variety like running.
The 5k hurt at times. I listened to Daft Punk the entire time because a) I love them and b) I wanted to and c) figured I could use all the help I could get being that I haven’t been running much. At all.
It also felt wonderful. I let myself run at a challenging (but not too challenging!!) pace. I knew right there that I had done it.
It was in the time that had passed since Chicago Marathon 2015 that my relationship with exercise has gone through a massive overhaul. And I can say the same about my relationship to my body.
I didn’t want to return to a race until I felt really ready. Until I knew that it was for pure fun. Until I knew it was to remind myself of my strengths and all that I am capable of. Until I knew that it was to celebrate my body and the life I get to live.
Whether the choice was conscious or not, something in me knew it. Today was the day.
maggie converse 