Sometimes we’re lucky without even realizing it. We think we want to be released from an arduous task so we search for a loop hole, a technicality or a crack in the plan that will let us off the hook just this once.
Your sleepy self awakes and notes the sunny sky and the white space on the calendar; the clean running shirt (your favorite) lying on the table beside the sunnies you thought you’d lost. When the universe has made it clear that it’s got your back but still you feel lazy or fearful while wishing you could back out gracefully from the responsibility ahead, well, then what do you do?
You jump. You get up, lace up and lock the door behind you. When the hardest part of the journey is the departure, we’re luckier than we deserve to be.
Today’s run marks a milestone. Finally, I have crossed into new territory. With three 28K distance runs behind me, I skipped the standard 30 and added 1 (30 is overrated). I left the house uncertain if my knee, which recently has been yelping for a yoga class, was dependable enough to last this distance. I ran slowly to frenetic music and arrived home in due course, running belt two gel packs lighter. I think I was able to coast on only two gels’ worth of energy because I consumed a lot of food last night; some good folks laid the foundation when they served up a tasty pasta, salmon & asparagus dinner. Lucky for me, as I’d much rather savour authentic food in the company of real friends (in their new home!) than suck on dreadful-tasting gels by myself.
My lucky streak continued to safety-net me when I unwittingly ate part of a salad upon which I had poured a dressing that harboured traces of dill, an herb that has violently provoked me in the past. I was granted a free pass this time: no barfing or asphyxiation. Not a single hive to scratch obsessively. Lucky.