When I first started running, all I wanted to do was go a long way at what I considered a reasonable pace.
It frustrated me to no end that I couldn’t just go right out the door and run long and fast immediately.
I would get so envious of friends who’d been running for longer and marveled at how easy running looked for them. Truth was they simply had more distance under their belts, learned to be patient, and had put in the work—knowing that building a base was key to success.
My mother says my lack of patience is due to the fact she microwaved my bottles instead of heating them over boiling water on the stove.
Even if that isn’t the reason, it’s hard for me to wait for anything.
Patience is what I’m working on this week.
Patience to close on the house on which I made an offer.
Patience to move my belongings (again).
Patience with a cold that don’t seem to want to let go of my son.
Patience with traffic.
Patience with myself, trying to get back into a steady routine.
Patience to not run fast right now, but to just run.
I forget sometimes the reason I like marathons best is because of how LONG it takes to finish (even if you’re a speed demon).
The finish line is that much sweeter because you really have to work for it. Every step, every kilometre is long and hard and not just handed to you.
Patience is epitomised by marathons—you can’t go out too fast or you won’t have anything left to finish.
That’s where I am right now, reminding myself it’s all about pacing—steady forward movement until I can finish, recover, and begin again.
