I've been neglecting my workouts. I've become that person that complains about how little time they have to exercise. Between moving apartments (twice) in the last month, interviewing, writing for YOGANONYMOUS, and having the busiest work month of our entire year, I've become sort of a zombie, choosing to head home and zone out in front of the TV every night instead of putting my body to work.
And can I tell you something?
I'm weepy and frustrated and running on empty. All the time. Despite being insanely hydrated and eating pretty well for the amount I'm working.
So tonight, after I left work, I just put on my running shoes and started to run.
It hurt and it was hard and I almost turned around.
But then it started to feel familiar again. It reminded me of the way I felt last year while I was training for the marathon. It reminded me that I can run, I can run fast, and I can run far. But I don't have to all the time if I don't want to.
So I didn't. Run fast. Or very far.
But I did stop in the middle of my run. Something I don't do very often is stop. Because I want to finish my run as fast as possible.
Today I stopped. And climbed onto a rock in Central Park. And sat there, cross-legged, kind of like the Buddha, though I wouldn't be so bold as to compare my Central Park rock-sitting-and-wind-listening to gaining enlightenment under the bodhi tree.
I just sat there. In my running shoes, with my eyes closed and just listened to the wind. The sounds of leaves rustling. The whirrwhirr of road bikes zooming up the hill beside me. And I repeated a phrase that I like to think about when I'm feeling very caught up in life:
"I am here. I am now. I am this moment."
Because truly, that's all we ever are. Sure, we can plan, and have ideas and work toward goals. But in any given moment, that's really all we are. That given moment. And we are so lucky to be given it, that it should be celebrated by listening to it. Perhaps on a rock. In Central Park. In running clothes.