Half crazy?

It’s been three years since I ran my last half marathon. That year, I ran three. Next year, I am going to celebrate my double-nickel birthday by running again. My fourteenth half. My first since they reconfigured my foot.

I thought I had lost my mojo.

But a friend’s recent first race inspired me. She looked so bright and shiny … and happy when she told me about the event. It brought back so many memories of miles, blisters, camaraderie, and my favorite post-run beverage, chocolate milk. Recently, I heard about a race series that runs through the national parks … Zion, Yellowstone, Grand Tetons. And Yosemite! Memories of Yosemite run deep. My family camped there when I was a child, and I can still conjure up that musty smell of our army-green tent that I loved to poke when it rained. My first backpacking trip; standing atop Half Dome.

So I registered for Yosemite, got back on my treadmill, and started to run. I had forgotten the rhythmic Zen of running. I had forgotten how gratifying it was to sweat your hair wet. But this week, I remembered. The voices of former coaches and running partners echoed … lean forward … shorten your strides … quick feet. I’ve got some work to do, and I have 225 days to do it. This week, I started with 30 minutes. One third jogging, two thirds, a quick walk.

Fifty-five. I hope to get a PR. And I’m gonna wear a tiara.