I’ve already been awake for almost 3 hours and it isn’t even 7:30 yet.
Thursdays are fast becoming my favorite day of the week because a couple of my friends from Crossfit and I go to do sprints at a local track.
Makes me feel a sense of nostalgia.
But, not a longing-for-the-past nostalgia. Rather, a remembrance in my body. As if my body is going back and reliving memories–not my brain.
I’m not consciously remembering moments or experiences I had as a high school track athlete on my father’s team. Instead, my body just feel like it is doing something it remembers spending so much time on. It is as if my body is thanking me for letting it once again work on something it put soooo much of its time and energy into at one time. It is as if my body decided a decade ago that that was something it felt good doing and is reminding me of it now.
There is a certain calm-happy-peace-freedom feeling I feel on a track that I don’t feel anywhere else. It doesn’t matter where the track is or the condition/shape it is in. Just seeing one triggers the feeling; being on it deepens it; and running on it intensifies it.
It is like seeing an attractive man, then kissing him, then having deep passionate sex with him.
Is that weired? I don’t know if that is weird because a lot of the reason that I have such a strong connection to the sport of running and track and field in particular is because of my dad. He is a track coach. He was my high school track coach. Track was the only sport that I really excelled at. And I know without a shadow of a doubt that the only reason I performed so well at it was because of the emotional stakes I had in it.
I’m the only girl in my family. Stuck in the upper middle between two boys. They were both
good excellent runners. Track and field consciousness and dialogue took over my family–and still does. Not to an obsessive degree, but to a degree that would be abnormal to most other families.
Dinnertime at the table my dad built in the house he built with the family he and my mom built. Sitting, all five of us, eating the meal my mom cooked, after saying a prayer leaping right into a dialogue of how the track season was shaping up.
It didn’t matter how old I was, at this time of year, that was how dinnertime went. And I loved it.
It is the consciousness of our clan. I can think of much worse things for a family to focus on.
But, growing up with that I’m sure created the neuro-pathways (sp?) that trigger my track/running-related emotional responses.
I could go much deeper in analyzing this. But it isn’t something I care too much to source out…at this time, anyway.
I just know that a place of peace-joy-freedom for me is and always will be a track.T