I went for a run, and soon after it started, the spirit of Pheidippides joined me.
We ran around the blocks and up and down the hills, conversing with each other.
We talked of the weather, the streets and the trails, and all the things we passed by.
And, of course, we talked of running.
The joy and the pain, the ecstasy of a great ride and the soul searing misery of a crash.
(“Bonk” was a word he wasn’t familiar with, for some reason. Surely that must exist somewhere, chiseled on an ancient stone for all eternity.)
This spirit motivated me, and had me running faster and faster, forward and onward.
We spoke of goals and of desire.
Of wanting something that seems unreachable.
It’s hard he told me, which is nothing new, but sometimes, you just need to be reminded of it.
As the miles added up, and our legs got tired (well, mine at least), he yelled and screamed, encouraged me to dig a bit deeper.
“A few more steps.”
“Keep the forward momentum going.”
“Breathe, breathe, breathe.”
“Just run, my friend, just run.”