I ran for 30 minutes Saturday, a personal goal that I've worked two months to achieve. I did it again today, thus proving that Saturday was not just a fluke, and making it official; I am now A Person Able To Run Continuously For Thirty Minutes.
Every little milestone along the way has felt good, and I am proud of myself, proud of the discipline it required as well as the result. But to be perfectly honest, there is a shadow side that I am not so proud of. It's the voice inside my head that says, "You will never be as good a runner as [Will/Kate/insert name of athletic person here] so why even try?" and "Why did you let yourself become so out of shape in the first place, that you had to work this hard to get back?" and "You don't deserve to succeed."
To borrow a zen metaphor, there was quite a bit of grit at the bottom of my glass. To most people I probably seem like a person of high self esteem, and most of the time I feel that way, but running stirred my glass and made it all cloudy for a while, full of ego, pride and doubt. Time to dredge out a few particles. Or to use a different metaphor, I'll sweat it out.
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