A walk, a stop, a blow to my pride

Some days I’m signing up for a half-marathon on whim — as in, yes, two days before race day without any prior planning or thoughts to run it.

And, some other days I’m trotting along at nearly 10 min/mile pace and stop.

And momentarily “give up.”

I’m never one to walk during my runs. I never feel the need to, or the want to.

Yesterday was different.

Yesterday was that “other day.”

I had the most severe stomach pain come over me. I couldn’t run anymore. I sat down on the front steps of someone’s house, hoping the owner would not come home to find me in a helpless disarray.

I felt broken.

After about 10 minutes of crouched-over sitting, I decided to get up.

I slowly made my way home. And, by slowly I mean walking.

I couldn’t even jog.

I felt defeated.

A runner whizzed by me.

This must be that “walk of shame” that some college kids experience the morning after late-night parties, I thought to myself.

I didn’t want to stay on the main road anymore because I didn’t want anyone to see me walking in my running clothes and shoes. I didn’t care that they were probably all strangers. I wanted to hide.

So, I took side streets and back roads.

Although close to home and near my regular running route, I never took these streets before. I saw newly built houses with “interesting” architecture. I found a community garden with flower beds and vegetable gardens. I walked by cute cats.

Maybe there was some good in this walk?

Walking isn’t bad.

But, for this runner, it just felt bad at the time.


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