Step Outside

London, winter. It’s 3 degrees outside. Inside, it’s warm. The central heating is on, I’m enjoying some political program on BBC while I devour a bowl of muesli. It would be so easy to make myself another coffee, curl up on the couch and enjoy a morning inside.

Instead, I put on my running gear, complete with gloves and warm hat, and step outside. 

It’s cold, bitterly cold. My nose runs continuously as my breathing begins to labor. Slowly but surely, my legs, along with my breathing pick up a rhythm. I enjoy the scenery as I run through woodland, over fields, down country lanes. The cold still bites at my face, my breathing visible through the almost freezing air.

Yet I begin to smile.

I had stepped outside, away from comfort. Why? 

Due to a personal obligation to myself, to train for a race, to keep up my fitness, to get my long run ‘in’. Perhaps an element of determination?

Once outside, it didn’t take long to realise it was the right thing to do. Didn’t necessarily make it comfortable, but perhaps that was what made it right?