I miss it. From waking up at 4 a.m. on race day to the rush of adrenaline that you experience when the green flag drops; lord do I miss it.
I miss asking my wife for song suggestions for a pulse-thumping playlist two days before the race. I miss the butterflies and anxiety that you experience while lying in bed the night prior to the gun going off. And yes, I even miss the tightness in my left thigh that caught me off guard at the nine-mile mark. This past Saturday marked my half-marathon debut, and I miss every knee-jarring, sweat-producing, calf-burning, runners-high-producing second of it.
I’m not a particularly big person, but I do recall the days of old when I wrestled 152 and hovered around 160 pounds in the off season. When I hit my 30s my metabolism slowed and my weight increased. By then I was running less, working a sit down job, and maintaining the same high-calorie diet I did when I ran 50+ miles per week.
I remember my first track practice in high school. It was still winter, so my team ran laps on the hard cement around the school’s upper floor. The next morning, it felt like someone tore my shins out and replaced them with burning knives. I will never forget that feeling, and never run on cement again.