The past few weeks my days have blurred together and passed so quickly. I won't have the all-clear to return to running for a few weeks yet (fingers crossed for an R2R June 1!). But from time to time I pluck some thoughts from my brain that are mile markers of where I'm at on this crazy road.
I drive past the track and hear it calling me to come back, come back.
I look longingly at my piles and drawers of clothing that I love and cannot wear yet, and I can't wait to shed more weight/inches.
I read race recaps and smile thinking about getting back to racing, even short distances, though I'm not impatient about it in any way. I know it will take time.
I take the baby for walks and feel good about life and the world.
I look at my babies and wonder if either of them will ever want to run with me, or will ever become a runner themselves.
I wonder if they'll grow up and think my girly habits are silly or endearing.
Sometimes I wake up in the early early hours, before sunrise or at sunrise, and I think about what the park looks like at that hour and what it feels like to be out, an easy run or a blistering fast one. And I miss it. But patiently.
I watch Baby Brother slowly grow. At four weeks old he can hold his head up for short periods of time. When you think about it, it's amazing that children take multiple years to get from birth to dressing themselves, and I'm reminded that it will take time to get myself back to full speed too, and that that's ok.
I don't care what any doctor or nurse tells you, giving birth is harder than running a marathon. I'm reminded of this every time I read a race recap from Boston, Flying Pig, Illinois, and the other races y'all have been busy with these last few weeks.
Mostly, I think that my life is beautiful, and I'm so incredibly thankful that I know to appreciate it for what it is right now.