So I tripped and fell on my run yesterday. Twice. Full blown superman. Nothing terribly serious or unusual, but enough to shake my confidence and knock the wind out of me. Typically I am pretty graceful in these situations, but a rough weekend had taken a toll on my ability to focus.
So I’m sitting there doing a quick damage assessment — nothing broken, nothing needs stitches — and it occurred to me that it would be totally understandable if I just walked back to the car. I mean, I’m bruised and bleeding. I already fell twice. I look and feel like a moron. Seriously, could this weekend get any worse? I’m trying to hold it together, but I can’t breathe, can’t move my arm, and I really just want to sit there and have a good cry.
But then an odd thing happened. A moment of clarity reminded me that before the fall and the blood and the tears, I was doing something I loved. Something that made me feel alive and strong and beautiful. And why was I sitting on the ground when I could be flying through the trees?
So I got up and began to shuffle. The shuffle turned into a jog, which slowly turned into a run. And before I knew it I was good as new. Not because I was tough (trust me, I’m not), but because I couldn’t stand to waste another moment *not* doing the thing that makes my heart whole.
I don’t know what will knock me down next. Life hits pretty hard sometimes. But I hope that when it does, I can find a reason to get up again. Not because I’m strong, but because there is strength in what lies ahead.