Three Hundred Sixty Seconds

stolen moments on Christmas Eve

an extra long nap while conversation and love surrounded him

I knew what I wanted.

Five or six minutes, somewhere between three hundred sixty seconds.

Motherhood steals time from expected places: nightly hours of sleep are chipped away to a series of catnaps, leaving the house is packing snacks and timing naps and realizing I need to do one more diaper change before walking out of the door.

It snatches time from unexpected moments as well: sitting down to read a book and flipping to the beginning three or five or ten times to twist my tongue around the rhymes of Dr. Seuss, opening the blinds in the morning and watching the recycling truck slowly moving down our street, separating yellow lids from green bins and sliding glass and paper into labeled chutes on the passenger side.

Stealing three hundred sixty seconds from a two hour run seemed reasonable, even simple, when I finished my half marathon in April and began to set my goal for my October run.

Sliding comfortably into a training plan I’d used before, my body tumbled into the routine, my feet moving through the motions and the miles I checked off on my calendar each night.

But my mind wandered.

Writing and motherhood and relationships gathered round, throwing balls into the air at a dizzying speed, daring you to juggle them all while chasing your laughing toddler away from the fireplace doors for the eighty-first time before ten in the morning.

I hardly noticed when my training ball dropped, falling slowly out of rotation, runs missed and miles staring at me from the white page of my planner, yearning for the decorated highlighter of the miles actually completed.

With my race looming, I shifted my thinking, trusting that my mental strength hadn’t lagged behind with my endurance building workouts.

It hadn’t; I finished the half marathon with a smile, the time a respectable one for someone more closely aligned with the tortoise than the hare.

But I hadn’t stolen those minutes. 

I hadn’t met my goal time.

So this past Tuesday, I crept into the gym and climbed onto the treadmill.

This Saturday, I let the unexpectedly warmth of forty degree sunshine beat onto my shoulders as my feet tentatively found their familiar loop.

Saturday night, I registered for my fifth half marathon, three hundred sixty seconds pushing me towards October. Again.

This week we’d like you to write a memoir piece about an unfulfilled goal or a broken resolution, beginning with the words, “I knew what I wanted".

 

If you haven't read enough about my running today, I'm over at Just.Be.Enough., hosting the weekly link-up and talking about my first run of 2012.