She died a slow, painful, sputtering death almost two months back now.
Her last leg was 13.1 miles on a very cold, winter day.
A personal best, if there is such a thing on a treadmill, was a great way to go out.
What is a girlfriend to do when her best friend leaves her with no fallback plan?
After all purchasing a new treadmill during the post Christmas/ New Year’s health kick rush is not fiscally prudent.
And living without a daily run was not an option according to the girls who loudly and very vocally told everyone they knew that their Momma was not fun to be around when she missed a run.
That’s how I found myself one Saturday morning at the local gym purchasing a monthly membership and promising myself I would only come long enough to get me to spring when treadmill prices would plummet.
In the intervening weeks from the time I joined until today, I have found myself in the throes of a metamorphosis. The woman who thought running was the only sport which would satisfy her soul has now found herself eagerly awaiting her strength training days.
She’s also found herself relishing the indoor track. My sprint runs have turned me into an athlete I didn’t think possible as I enter my 40’s.
And those people at the gym, I sort of find myself looking forward to seeing them each day. My crew, usually in the women’s only section, quietly motivates each other. I the recluse runner recognize the power of working out with a team.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m still anxiously awaiting the day when I can once again respond to my 4:45am alarm, lace up my shoes and head downstairs for my morning run.
But, for now, I will be grateful that the death of something once deemed essential, was the catalyst for the birth of something new.