(not) running

I have been a runner off and on since I was sixteen. I have run two whole marathons, five or six half marathons, a few 5Ks, and I think just one 10K. Running had always brought me solace, relief, pride, and an escape where I could just focus on breathing and my footfall. People have always commented that they cannot run, they hate running, and they think I'm crazy. I can assuredly say that it had not been for the first two half marathons I would have lost my mind during my divorce. Being able to set goals and achieve them gave me confidence and boosted my self-esteem. Not to mention a great ass and legs ;) Lately, though, since the last marathon a year ago, I have lost the passion. I do not know where it went, why I don't feel the same happiness when I lace up my shoes. I just bought a new pair of pink Asics in the hopes that inspiration and desire will occur via osmosis: magic will happen when the soles of my feet meet the insoles of the shoes. I feel frustrated and angry with myself, as I want to feel like I used to when I would hit the trail or run the hills in the park. I promised myself that I will train for the half in the spring and then aim for what will probably be my last marathon a year from now. Fifty will be old enough to be somewhat impressive but young enough so that I hopefully do not die on the course. I don't want to let myself down. I am envious of people who never waiver in their commitment to running, who have that build that I thought I would have, even just last year. Running is never easy. At the height of my training there were days where I did not want to get out of bed or just wanted to stop in the middle of a training run and take a taxi back. But I persevered, and so I guess I need to dig deeper now so I can find my inner runner girl. She needs to lace up her shoes and get out there.