For the love of the sport
I recall one too many times in the past telling the mister how much I admired his enthusiasm for golf. To this I added that I wished I was half as passionate in something (anything actually) as he was in hitting golf balls. There’s three things that always made his love for the game evident. The dedication (waking up at 5.45am on some Saturday mornings no matter how the previous night went down), the passion (golfing in the rain on some occasions) and the commitment (I will leave this part blank because his employer might be reading hehe).
Fast forward to many years later (we are not going to count how long we’ve been together, ok?), I finally found my thing. It wasn’t a sudden revelation and honestly I didn’t see it coming. I would love to say that I woke up one morning and had this pressing urge to run, to which I yielded by grabbing my old running shoes and head phones and making a bolt for the door. After which I ran for 10km non-stop in less than an hour. Nothing could stop me, not even the realization that I had covered the entire stretch and I was back home, running straight into the living room and zooming past everyone as they watched TV. I only stopped suddenly when I got to the water dispenser and downed a full liter of water, like a camel restocking for the next three months. I would love to say that’s how my love for running started, but sadly that’s not the case!
My relationship with running is mostly bittersweet. I derive so much happiness from the sport but half the times I struggle. Some times I don’t want to wake up and other times I have injuries that make me wonder if its worth it. Sometimes I leave the house feeling so enthusiastic but then something unexpected happens, like lack of street lights at some sections of the trail I follow and that just kills my spirits. Sometimes I feel so hungry in the middle of a run (mostly happens when I get to Statehouse, imagine that!) and I get tempted to show up for breakfast at the house on the hill. But the one thing that’s constant is the feeling I get after a run. A deep sense of ataraxia.
I started running around March last year but never took it seriously until around September. In fact, I recall accompanying the mister for one of his golf escapades at Vipingo Ridge early September and I wrote about how his passion for golf still had me raising eyebrows. Which means, I still had’t discovered my passion but was in the process. At the onset, I would walk from the office to my house (about six kilometers) then I started interspersing the walks with slow one minute runs. I got bored of the route and moved to Jaffreys where I would run for one lap (400m) and walk the next one, covering 10 laps in total (4kms). One day I pushed myself and covered 5 laps of non-stop running. That’s the moment I made a volte-face and embraced running with all its flaws, and mine. I realized that just like everything else in life, the ability to run well is all in the mind.
Running will not always be fun. Some days you will struggle, others you will break your records. But you gotta get up and run, which mostly is the biggest challenge. To overcome this, find things that enhance your running experience. Music and new outfits are my charm. This morning I almost did not get out of bed then I remembered the outfit that I had spread out the previous night. I immediately jumped out of bed with a smile on my face.