I'm running again. And I'm scared.
I'm scared of falling. I'm scared of failing. I'm scared it's going to be too much. I'm scared it won't be enough. I'm afraid of going it alone. I'm afraid of holding someone else back.
It's been years since I genuinely tried to run. It's been even longer since I considered it "fun." Unfortunately, it's the best way to achieve my goals. Also, it'll be nice to refresh my "Out-of-My-Comfort-Zone-But-Doable" list.
I learned to swim last year, which was terrifying. I mean I didn't really think my instructor would let me drown, but I always felt it was a possibility.
I also started cooking this year. [Read: using a very precise amount of ingredients to follow highly detailed, pictured instructions.] And it's gone well. I've been eating like I think adults should eat and it's been mostly pleasant.
I'm not deluded enough to think the same will be true for running.
I'm running not because I want to, or because I think I'm going to learn to love it. At best, I'm hoping to not hate it. I'm mostly running because I miss Muay Thai. I'm running because I want to survive three minutes against a bag and I'm not going to get there by just walking up and down these hills. Yes, I'm also running to push the anxiety back and to get back into my old clothes and to be able to have a metric for success. But mostly I want to kick a lot of kicks.
So I'm running again. And I'm scared. But I'm also determined.