Things that are humbling…
(why do I feel like I’m on Jeopardy with that phrase? “I’ll take ‘things that are humbling’ for $100, Alex”)
I’m humbled when:
…I’m smacked with the reality of a less-than-stellar run. Especially after riding what feels like a multi-week runner’s high, especially after *just* blogging about a 12.5 mile runner’s high just yesterday. But yesterday was also a day where I faced a way-harder-than-it-should’ve-been run. Almost as if I was running in place, exerting all this energy and not getting anywhere. That “not getting anywhere” feeling lasted pretty much the entire run. But? The silver lining – I did not give up. I did not walk. I kept moving (that favorite running quote springs to mind…”Run if you can, walk if you must, crawl if you have to, but just don’t stop.”) It was humbling.
…I have a fat day. A “day” or a “feeling” I thought I’d finally banished for good. But guess what? I’m human. I’m not perfect. I still have fat days. Apparently, I didn’t get that memo. Even after blogging about what a difference a year makes. Even after openly admitting that, on my 32nd birthday, I feel good, happy, confident when I look in the mirror. I’m still human. But, as luck would have it, all that “fat day” took yesterday was a double whammy session at barre n9ne to knock some sense into me. After taking a legs express class followed by b9 toned, firm, fit and ready, I suddenly looked into that mirror and did not feel fat. I felt strong again. Confident again. Fit again.<exhale> …but yet? The fact that a fat day can still rear its ugly head from time-to-time? That’s humbling.
…I see someone who is not able, yet still making the most of life. When I say “able,” I mean – unable to be active, unable to walk, even. It was during that very same run yesterday that Scott and I encountered an elderly woman. Out for her morning “walk” in her wheelchair. By the look on her face, you’d never know she was unable. She was smiling, she was happy – with what she was able to do. While she physically couldn’t walk, she *could* still get out and enjoy the beautiful Indian summer day. Wheelchair and all. That look on her face, the kind words she uttered when we passed by. It was so humbling. Especially considering I was just bitching in my head about how horrendous I was feeling on that run.
“…But at least I *can* run,” I thought to myself.