My life has forever been split into two eras: before I ran a marathon, and after I ran a marathon.
After spending an entire summer beating my body up for the sense of glory (and Instagram likes), I have been spending the last 4 months or so resting my body. I slowly worked my way back into working out by taking boxing classes, following along to yoga videos on YouTube, and feebly forcing my legs to remember how to run again (the last one, regrettably, is still a work in progress).
Whenever I took a new class, the instructor would go through their usual spiel: this is the class, here’s what you’ll have to do, do you have any injuries?
“Well, I just ran my first marathon,” hold for applause, “so I have a few running injuries, but I think I should be able to manage!”
As I struggled my way through upper! body!! work, the negative thoughts inevitably swirled through my head, “You’re weak! You have no arm or back strength! You can’t do anything!”
… which were immediately countered with, “Wait, what the fuck, I just ran a marathon, I can do something.”
… which then turned into, “Huh, I ran a marathon before I could do a full push up.”
… which then turned into, “Huh, is that how I’m measuring my life now?”
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