Courage

"The miracle isn't that I finished.  The miracle is that I had the courage to start." ~ John Bingham

"Again." ~ Ginny Reese

Courage isn't the absence of fear.  It is the ability to proceed in spite of the fear.  I'm certainly not the first person to say that, but I think it bears repeating, mostly because I need to hear it.

For the past couple of weeks I have been pretty much debilitated by fear, although that is not how I was experiencing it.  I thought that I had come to an acceptance of my life and what is and is not possible for me.  I even said to a friend of mine "What's wrong with just being happy?"  If you had asked me what "being happy" meant I would have said something about going to work and coming home, doing some chores, some cooking, snuggling up on the couch and reading a book or watching tv.  Nothing taxed me, nothing challenged me, I was just living my life.  That's happiness, right?  Millions of people do that every day, day in, day out, until the day they don't do anything any more.

Sure, I have my Year of No Alcohol going on, and my 365 Walks with Ginny blog to do every day, and, okay, I have joined a writer's group too.  That's good, right?  I have a loving husband and an intelligent funny daughter to hang out with, and a brand new relationship with God that has me looking at stuff from a new angle.  That's a nice happy life.

Except it's not enough.  It is not all I want.  I want to run.

My body has taken a beating these past two years.  It started with a stress fracture in my foot and ended up with a herniated disc in my back.  I've gained weight - possibly I've mentioned that once or twice or six times already - and I feel terrible.  Uncomfortable.  Sitting on my couch these past few weeks I had almost convinced myself that my athletic days were behind me.  And what's wrong with that?  Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  Lots of people live happy fulfilling lives without getting beaten up in a gym or pounding out miles on a trail.  I wanted to be one of those people.  I am fifty years old, for heaven's sake. Isn't it time to settle down?

Part of that is fear talking.  I am afraid that I won't get back in shape.  I am afraid that  my body will just say "thanks for playing, but no".  I am afraid that I have abused it so much with my trips up and down the scale that it won't respond anymore.  I am afraid of failing.

Part of it is also being fifty.  I thought that it wasn't bothering me, but the last couple of weeks it has been on my mind a lot.  As I contemplated a life in this body, the one I have today, I felt old.  I felt like my best days were behind me.  I have these aches and pains, which will turn into other worse aches and pains, and then before you know it I will be my Dad, who needs a walker to move from one place to the next and who can't take five steps with that walker without labored breathing.

I felt the pull of a downhill slide.  Depression was setting in.

Three nights ago I was in the hot tub when God spoke to me again.  I'm not sure if he likes hanging out there or if that is the only place I am actually listening for him.  For whatever reason I was thinking about It's a Wonderful Life and the scene at the end where George is praying.  He says to God "I want to live again".  I thought the same thing.  What I have been doing isn't living, it's going through the motions.  After all of the doctors and all of the procedures, I'm still not without pain and I'm not sure I ever will be.  I felt like I will be like this forever.  

"I want to live again" I said to God.  "I want to have hope."

"You are my hope" was the immediate reply.

I am?

A friend of mine once gave me a Christmas ornament on which she had painted the Chinese symbol for courage.  She said that when she thought of me that was the word that came to mind.  

If I can do this, if I can come back from the injuries and the weight gain, then maybe others will think that they can too.  

If I have courage, maybe others will have hope. I am going back to my trainer this week, and taking another run at the mountain. 

The miracle is that I have the courage to start ... again.