So, I started running.
Oh, not far. I don't run very far.
And not very fast, either.
I mean, I was just kind of bored with the rowing machine in the garage and craved fresh air as I attempted exercise, so I started running 13 days ago in the early morning darkness. And I have run every day for 13 days. It's kind of like a personal challenge, just to see how long I can mange it--running every day.
And 13 days in a row is nothing, NOTHING in the big picture of fitness. But I feel like I am doing what I can.
And that will just have to be enough.
But I was telling my husband about my pitiful distance (can't even record it here, I don't have numbers on the keypad small enough) and he said, "But you're doing it! That's the hardest part, the getting up and starting."
I thought about that as I ran. Is the hardest part really just putting your mind to it and starting?
As I rounded the first bend (and the grade increased and a Hummer pulled out of the driveway in front of me), I realized that starting is the EASY part.
Not stopping? That is the hardest part.
The will to keep going, in running and writing, is the battle I wage against myself most days.
Beginnings are lovely and beautiful and the adrenaline is pumping and Man-o-MAN is this ever going to be good! I breathe the cold air into my lungs in large drags. I write freely and wildly, because these are the first words and it doesn't matter if they are perfect or not because if I don't like them I can start again. Starting is easy.
But continuing--laying word after word on paper, foot after foot on the rough pavement--this is what makes a runner into an athlete and a writer into an author.
(As if it were that easy...)