Running has a way of pounding out truths. Every step brings you closer to whatever it is you don’t want to face. Your lungs burn, your legs cramp, your mouth dries as it fills with grit. In the moment, running never seems worth the end it brings.
Looking back over my life, I find this cycle in most areas: my writing, eating, friendships – you name it, there have been many times these things have felt like a process not worth the effort. But as I spend more time training my legs to take me places, the process begins to whittle away at my mind in the same fashion. I find myself more willing to take risks and look beyond my circle-in-the-sand way of life.
The breakdown of positive change in both the metaphorical and physical comes with only one type of training. Sprinting can only get me so far. When I race through my life in short bursts of concentration and effort, I wear down and burn out. My change is only sustainable for so long.
While still valuing these small changes, I long for more.
My honest-self must confess to never having run a literal marathon, but I crave the discipline it would eek from me. The sweat of consistency would, I’m positive, trickle down into my soul and out through my words, my habits, my life. Transformation can be mine if I train, not just my body, but those small areas of my mind that will me to be more and give into something larger than myself.
I want to cross a finish line that cost me something.