I wrote this in March as the pandemic was hitting and realized I never published!
Last August, I had a kidney stone that got lodged, ended up infected, and could have been life-threatening had a doctor not stepped in and got me help. Immediately. At that point, I could hardly walk from the house to the car. Three surgical procedures later and one night in the hospital, and about a month of recovery, and that disaster was behind me.
Last week, I ran my fourth half marathon. (My first since having two babies…that’s a whole different blog post!)
When I was tired and my feet hurt and I saw a hill up ahead, I looked at my hand.
I wrote this as a reminder that the ability to run 13.1 miles is a privilege that I never want to take for granted.
I’m grateful for this body of mine. And there are times, usually involving a mirror, where that is easy to forget. But knowing what it felt like when my body flat out could not do what I needed for it to, I have vowed to always be grateful for the ability to put one foot in front of the other and run, whether that’s 13 steps or 13 miles.
This time—in Ft. Worth with two of my favorite friends running with me and the promise of mimosas at the finish line—it was 13 miles checked off the list.