Yesterday morning, I went for my first run since July 4th. Just saying that feels strange. Running was such a constant in my life, then suddenly it wasn't.
Laying out my gear the night before was a small act of commitment. A promise to myself. When I woke up, the motivation wasn't as strong as it had been the night before, but seeing my shoes and watch waiting for me made it easier to follow through. Step one was already done: I hadn't had a drink. Step two was to get out the door.
It felt good to fall back into that rhythm. Getting ready. Stepping outside. Moving through a familiar routine. My legs were tight and confused at first, like they had forgotten what this was all about. But the simple act of moving forward loosened something up in more ways than one.
I had forgotten about the small connections. A wave. A nod. The unspoken recognition between strangers out on the same road. There is something powerful in that quiet community, in knowing you are not the only one out here trying to shake off the weight of life.
And the sun. I missed the sun in my face, that reminder that the world is awake and moving and I get to be part of it.
Today wasn't about pace or distance or proving anything. It was about remembering what this feels like. It was about starting again.
The spark isn't all the way back yet, but I caught a glimpse of it. And for now, that's enough.
