That's how far I ran on Saturday.
That's how long it took me.
A long distance to some.
Short to others.
Many will say I was fast.
More will say it was average.
I do it because I love it.
I do it because I need it.
When I got home, I mentioned something about it on "The Facebook" and received a variety of responses.
The one that stood out to me most was written by my reliably funny friend, Oliver, wherein he asked, "What were you running from? Zat is ze real question."
And I've pondered this question.
For 2 days now the answer has come immediately and clearly--
Always from myself.
Running from my fears
Nothing is as dangerous to me as myself
But for the past 2 minutes another answer crept into my conscious.
I don't think I'm running FROM anything.
I'm running TOWARD something.
Love of self
For so many years I've looked at my runs and my walks and hikes and bike rides and dances and ski trips as running away from my life.
Away from my troubles.
Away from my worries.
Away from myself.
I've either turned a corner or put on new sunglasses, because I don't think I'm running away anymore. I'm running toward.
And it feels good.
It feels right.
I'm not afraid.