My heart pounded in my throat, and my lungs burned desperate for oxygen. Sweat trickled down the back of my neck. Legs were heavy, knees throbbed, and back ached.
I might actually die, I thought. How long had I been doing this? Forty minutes?
My watch showed 6:33. I’d been running for six f*cking minutes.
That’s how my first run in over three months started.
A mile into it, however, my body remembered, my heart rate regulated. Although it hit 197 and that felt a tad high, I paid little mind to such insignificant details. I was running.
And running is f*cking amazing. 🏃♀️❤️🙌🏼
Best three miles of my forties. Antarctica shmantarctica.
While on the epic jaunt, I came across a massive construction project that spanned the better part of half a mile. It must have started while I was hurt.
New buildings and structures littered the once serene view. The wild grass, brush, and vast greenery (or brownery in the summertime) were gone.
The foothills were blotted out and NASA’s folded dome that I had come to think of as almost home when returning from a long run was indistinct.
What once was the only standing structure in my view had become an impotent and dusty half nickel squeezed out by the shiny titanic-sized scaffolding.
In the photo (above), I can’t tell if when the construction is completed, I’ll lose NASA’s dome altogether.
But this is what progress is: change.
I’m grateful for the progress my body and soul have made in the past few months going from not being able to walk to being in a stupid boot to running.
These new buildings represented someone else’s progress, I guess. Maybe this is how I know I’ve moved into a new chapter of my life. I resent someone else’s progress. 👵🏼
Especially, when progress destroyed the view and eliminated the oxygen-creating trees and plants along the running trail. They better install green rooftops on those massive steel dinosaurs, or I’ll write a letter. 😀
Onward. But first, I need a nap.