It's no secret that I'm a runner. I run 26.2 miles (yes, for fun) on my days off. On average, I log between 40-50 miles a week.Within the walls of my home, I'm no novelty. My husband runs his age on his birthday - meaning he just ran 35 miles in six hours on a foggy December day.
I love the vulnerability. That feeling of my own humanity, as my feet pound the pavement and my heart thumps in rebellious rhythm.
Mile after mile. Day after day.
It's not unlike writing. No outside force can move your fingers and unravel a novel. No one else can mark each footfall for that marathon.
But I do it, and the kicker - I do this for fun.
Both writing and running require
Is it tempting to curl into the fetal position at mile 22? Every. Single. Time.
Do I want to pour scalding water on my computer after my millionth revision? Every. Damn. Time.
So, why do I do this?
Because I am who I am. A writer. A runner. A mother.
It's at these moments, that I feel invincible. I am strong. I want to show my children what strong means. I've begun the paperwork to raise money for one of the Boston Marathon charities, allowing me to run the Boston Marathon in April.
I'm going to run for those who are not yet strong. I am going to show my children that strong is persisting despite the overwhelming temptation to stop.
That strong is answering the question, Why am I doing this?
Because I am Clarissa Kae. I am a writer. A runner. A mother.
