This sight made me stop as I was dosing out my homemade drink while I was preparing for a run. The large bag of white powder, the scale, baggies, spoon…
I guess some might say it’s how I’m fuelling my addiction, although I don’t really think running is an addiction for me. I would never ever try to compare what an addict is going through compared to how I feel about running. I have seen that struggle first hand with family members and with people in the community that I work in.
I could stop running if there was another way to get the same health benefits. And maybe that’s the addiction: it’s not the pavement-pounding, gear-buying, split-calculating, laundry-making activity itself. It’s the fact that I can move freely. I don’t get winded after hiking as quickly. I can breathe easier. And being able to eat is nice too.
And there comes something else. There’s a confidence that comes with pushing your limits. I mean, I’ve seen what the human body can suffer and survive. I’ve seen horrific injuries and people who were dead literally brought back from the dead. My dad was diagnosed with a rare and aggressive form of cancer and was told he’d never make it to Christmas…four years ago. And before anyone goes “well that’s the power of positive thought and following doctor directions” nope. He’s a miserable man who was living on a steady diet of Big Mac’s at the time. Now it’s whatever he drives past.
I’ll go out for a long run and I’ll hurt a bit but I’ll bounce back. I have no one to compete against but myself. Other people may be faster but I’ve already done better than most people who go “I could never run that far”.
No. Until you believe, until you know that you can, you never will.