Back in Action.

The sky was a palate of blues and whites, misty, carefree strokes of clouds across a crisp November evening. There were little hints of pinks and gray that suggest sunset and impending winter. All of these things were saturated with the sounds of thousands of voices cheering in the Sanford Stadium in the center of campus--or, to my right, as I walked along East Campus road heading home from work.

After a 6 hour shift at my new job at Frontier, a little gift shoppe in downtown Athens, I had come to the conclusion that the only way home was on foot (since I'd been dropped off earlier by a friend who was now unavailable with other plans). I trekked 3.5 miles from downtown to my quiet little apartment on the east side. It was a lovely, lively walk. I let my mind roam and wander and land on whatever topic it chose--a very relaxing thing to do for someone who is usually so bogged down by her thoughts.

I definitely broke a bit of a sweat walking home, as I tried to make good time (so as to avoid getting caught in the dark), despite the chilly air that swirled around me. It felt so great working my body up to a sweat and sped-up heartbeat again, after nearly 3 weeks of absolutely nothing.

It also felt good just to use my own body to get me where I needed to go. To remind myself that I don't rely on technology, modern transportation, etc. Our bodies were made to get us around, and it's a shame we don't utilize this truth more often. Heck, I'm guilty of taking the bus a half a mile if it means getting somewhere faster. I try not to, but some days, I just don't bother resisting.

But it reminded me today, using my own two feet to get around, that our bodies were made to do more than we trust them to. Our skin was made to heal itself; our bones, our veins, our muscle tissue, too. We were made to repair... Which I think means we were made to be broken. They say self-preservation is the ultimate human trait, but I think it's foolish that we try so hard to make ourselves so safe and comfortable and protected that we stop living. Danger and adventure are hardly ever safe and comfortable.

Our bodies are made to do more than we trust them to.

I met with my very dear friend Robbie this week for coffee and inspiration, and during our soul-filled conversation, he encouraged me in many ways towards my goals, fears, hesitations, and ideas. Robbie is a runner, has ran over 10 marathons, including some ultra-marathons, and is currently training for a 50-mile race. Let me just say--before talking with him about this, I didn't even know what an ultra-marathon was... I didn't know people ran more than 26.2 miles, I kinda thought that was it!

But when I realized that there were even higher, farther, crazier goals than running a marathon, I got even more excited. Not that I think I'd be into these extreme races, but I was just mostly intrigued by the idea that our bodies can do so much. It's really incredible, if you let yourself come to terms with it. You know how people always seek faith or volunteering and justify it by the phrase, "being a part of something bigger than yourself"? Well, I think that's what running (and exercise and health in general) has been for me. Realizing that your body can do more than you currently can now really is like giving in to a higher power... believing that there is a force, a power, a drive, that will do something greater than you are now.

You find your salvation in books... maybe mine is somewhere out there on the pavement, the space between rubber sole and Georgia red clay, the gasping lungs of a body becoming something greater than the present, than reality itself.

I just want to run again. I just want to be freed from this sick body, the soreness in my throat... I woke up in the middle of the night last night coughing for the first time in these 3 weeks. It was such a dry cough that it felt sharp like knives, and a deep cough that it felt like I'd throw up. I'm ready to be better.

Just know that I'm not going anywhere, this project has not and will not die, and there are still so many miles ahead of me on this road. As soon as these lungs and this darn throat gives me the green light to lace up, I'm Back in Action.