Last week I had an amazing run in the mountains. Aspens, wildflowers, five minutes of fat raindrops… it was so beautiful.
This week I came back home and had a hard, sucky run in my neighborhood. I didn’t feel like going. I struggled through the whole thing. I came home, and Sam asked, “What took you so long?”
Yeah. Not feeling the love this week.
Some days are like that, to quote Alexander and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day. It’s hard to come back from vacation. It’s hard to come off my (literal) mountaintop and resume every day life. It was a Transfiguration moment for me. And yet it’s my job. It’s my life, and moaning about it isn’t going to get me anywhere.
A year ago, all my runs were like this. Every step was hard. There was no rhythm, no high, no mile of getting lost in that clarity and joy. Half an hour of hard work took me two miles. Now, it’s been two months since my last no-love-lost run. Friends, that’s progress. Progress that was earned by all those other runs, even on days where I wasn’t feeling it.
I’m never going to run a six-minute mile. Or a sub-60 10K. Or an ultra-marathon. It’s only because I’m surrounded by marathoners and Runner’s World magazine that it frustrates me. But maybe I should take my frustration and recognize it for what it is: a love for the mountaintop, and a longing for heaven.
Learning As We Go 
At least you can run and did run! Good job.
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