Each day I seek to find ways to make this body better. I somehow hold the key that gives life to my doomed flesh. As I eat, drink, and run, I do so with purpose and determination. All I want to do is live. I don’t take my breaths for granted any more. I feel them. There is life flowing through my lungs, my veins, my muscles, and I am growing stronger.
In this critical time, I have learned that sacrifice and dedication are worth the price for the achievement of the goal ahead. I love this discipline, but it scares me. I’ve spent so much of my life being flexible and undisciplined that I fear this is only for a moment, that I will fail at this and be unsatisfied with who I become. I want any physical changes to compliment the progress I make in learning to live. I want my body, mind, and spirit to be fully connected, dependent on each other, not living separate lives.
Has running become my new religion? If so, what progress is that? It’s just one more change, one new lifestyle to adapt to, not the person anyone would expect me to be, a person I doubted I ever would be, but somehow I’m here.
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