I've been running a lot lately. With Mr. P home the month of July we were spoiled with the luxury of time to devote to our hobbies and pleasures. Almost every morning we would take turns watching the boys while the other went on a 45-90 minute run. I realized that when I'm running I'm just me. It's the one time when I'm not a mommy, or even a wife. I'm just me doing what I've loved to do for the past 12+ years. It's a comforting feeling.
There are years, even decades, that we devote to our children and that is beautiful & lovely & admirable. But, sometimes we lose ourselves among the diapers and tonka trucks. We forget the simple things that give life to our weary souls. The sound of my own labored breathing, the thumping of my shoes against the pavement, the trickle of sweat down my temples, the glare of the sun in my eyes. It's all familiar, like an old childhood friend. It's time when I'm just me; nothing to cover up the blemishes, nobody to impress. Minutes for my mind to wander, and for my body to get tired because it wants to, because it's good for it, because it's what it needs to thrive.