These past 7 weeks of training have meant many things to me. They have been the beginning of what is hopefully a long and fruitful career as a professional athlete, they have opened my eyes to the joys of running, not racing or working out, just running, and they have been my emotional release, allowing me to remain sane in a time of uncertainty and doubt. But now, just 8 days before my trip to Mammoth I find myself taking yet another unplanned break, resting my hip as my running shoes collect dust, and my training log begins to look naked. The familiar feeling settles back down upon my shoulders, the feeling that I have been down this road before, the feeling of injury. After 7 weeks of believing this was my time, that this year would be different than the others, I am back on the shelf, feeling betrayed by my own body. I am 5 foot 9 and I weigh 125 pounds, nothing about these numbers screams strong, resilient, or capable, yet I have run under 4 minutes for the mile, I have represented team USA at the highest level of international competition, I am a national champion, and I am fragile. It is simply in my DNA, it is who I am, and it is most certainly a part of what I do. I have God given abilities that I surely do not deserve, but do not take for granted. Maybe this is life's way of slowing me down to peak just perfectly for London, or maybe it is Gods way of saying now is not my time, either way my body is speaking and I am listening. This may be a road that I have traveled down before, and it may not seem fair or just, but at the end of the day it is not my right to question the path laid out in front of me, but instead to walk it with pride and a burning passion, knowing that this road will come to an end, and when it does I will be off running faster than ever on a road somewhere in London.
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