I promised myself that when the weather started getting warmer, I’d go back to running.

12 years ago, when I was getting in shape for the first time, runs were the means to the end of getting to my little 24 hour gym in Somers Point. I realized the route was short enough to walks, and after enough walks it became a gentle warmup/cooldown run.

When I moved away from the Shore and into the Pinelands, the runs took on a bit more meaning. The runs became a part of my workout regimen I both looked forward to and feared a bit. I’d run a zig-zag path through a few miles of town, at least once passing through a stretch of woodland that was pitch dark at 5am. Coyotes and other animals weren’t uncommon- on my runs I’d find patches of fur or feathers where a predator had gotten lucky.

I loved the quiet more, though. I loved the fog and mist, and how easily I could fall into “the Zone.” I just needed to keep my legs moving, and I felt like I was part of it all. Like the coyotes and dark couldn’t touch me, because as long as I kept moving, I was one of them.

“Nature loves courage,” Terrence McKenna said. I would run through fog, dark, and rain. I would run in baking heat or snow.

The weather is warmer now, and my 37-year-old body is questioning whether I can do it all again. Whether I can really bounce back a 4th time. I don’t know if I can, but I know I’m going to try- and part of that will be reminding myself why I loved it in the first place.

The other day, I went on my first real run up Mount Tabor in nearly a year. I am currently 220 pounds- a good amount of it for sure is muscle from my focus on strength training, but I know that a lot of it is also made up of beer, driving to and from work, and trying to lose weight by cutting calories too much for too long, bringing my already age and medication-dampened metabolism to a near standstill.

Whatever it is, I have effectively regained half of the weight I initially lost. I don’t need an extra weight vest for my runs- I’m wearing one 24/7.

I knew the first run would suck. “You’re not going for any records, Matt. You’re not trying to meet or beat your old PRs. All you need to do today is finish. Get around the route, get home, and just do the run. That’s all. Anything else is a bonus.”

I groaned and sweated through it. My legs felt like lead, and my knees and feet ached. I got a nasty blister on the arch of one foot from shoes that were already broken in, and I had to stop for breath 4 times. In the end, I ran an average 12 min/mile pace- but I finished the route and didn’t walk.

My knees and back were in pain the next day- but it wasn’t nearly as bad as I remember it being 13 years ago before I started working out. I was ready for this pain. I knew it well and treated it like an achievement. “I did it. I didn’t walk.”

The day after, after a long day of work in the winery, I wanted to run again. I set my expectations low again- “No records, Matt. No PRs. All you’re gonna do is finish- and this time, try not to stop. One solid run.”

My quads and knees complained on the way up the mountain and moaned every time my speed slacked on the switchback turns. The sun was warm on my face and the breeze was cool, and there were others in the park. I knew I was being judgy, but so many were in worse shape than I and they were out there jogging and moving. They could do it, so I had no excuses. Brain meds or not. Depression or not. They were moving, so I could too.

“Yes, knees and legs, I hear you. I heard you before. But we’ve DONE this before, and we’re not going to stop. Complain and hate me later if you like, but we’re doing this. It’s a pain and suck you know how to deal with, so deal with it.”

I ran the route. 12-minute mile again… and I only stopped once at the end for a red light.

As I write this, I’ve put off my run today a few times- once for potential rain, once more for a pre-workout beverage, and once for kitty snuggles (Cleo is a terrible personal trainer.) But the sun is out again for now, and I have no more excuses. I’m going to run through the park in the bright sunshine. I’m going to move my legs, find the Zone, and I’ll be grateful afterward when I come home and get to go on with my day.

Now, though, I’m also learning the harder skill of being patient with myself while I work toward it. Why is that so much harder than the last time?

The first time I lost weight, I just knew I was trying to be better- any improvement was an improvement. Now, though, it’s regaining what I’ve lost, and every achievement is slightly colored by the knowledge of how much I have yet to go and what I lost in the first place. There are feelings of grief, shame, and self-hatred there- and they run deep.

“Nature loves courage,” though, according to Terrence McKenna. Right now, my “courage” isn’t dark, coyotes, or bad weather. It’s embracing the pain and knowing there is bliss to be found beyond it- if I can power through the feeling of shame.

Stay Classy,