Tuesday, Mar 23, 2010 was a day that could have very easily my triathlon career. It almost ended my life. Thursday, June 10, 2010, 11 weeks and two days after my last run, I finally got to do what I’d spent the better part of the last couple of months dreaming about – I got to run. I ran for 30min. I ran way too fast mostly to prove to myself that I could. And mostly because I just needed to run as hard and fast as I was able to. I don’t think anything I can remember was as perfect as those first steps which my lovely wife was kind enough to capture on film.
The most apropos description is one taken from a line in the movie “Fight Club” – I ran until my muscles burned and my veins pumped battery acid. And then I ran some more. When I first went to the gym after getting out of the hospital, I sensed that I was climbing away from something with every step I took on the stepmill. But running that day, I felt like I was running to something. Back to normalcy. Back to what I consider my life. And back towards what I truly love to do. I ran because I wanted to. And because, finally, I was able to.