Running back to myself

Running back to myself

Running back to myself

a month ago

words ()

Ten months.
It was the first time since having the baby that I’ve stepped on a treadmill. I stepped on gingerly at first, not sure if my body remembered how to run anymore. Running had never been my favorite pastime; it was simply something I did because it helped with weight loss.
I almost fell, too focused on choosing the right “get hype” music on my phone while simultaneously walking at an embarrassingly low speed.
Today’s workout was not about losing weight.
We recently celebrated my first Mother’s Day with baby AJ and it was another reminder on how much I did for everyone around me while constantly neglecting my own needs.
I was the classic, “pouring from an empty cup.” As a mother, I have very little choice but to push through. There are no days off and no sick days.
Many days pass when I just want to keep something for myself, where I want to have one day where everything I have hasn’t been touched by anyone else. Where my body is mine and mine alone.
Sometimes when I walk through the house, the baby runs into my heels in his walker, reminding me that he is there.
As a mother and wife, those quiet moments are fleeting. I might get twenty minutes where I can sip coffee or just sit staring into space.
This was my time.
My feet picked up the familiar rhythm as the ball of my sneakered foot hit the treadmill, my arms pumping. Beyonce’s voice urged me along. Before I knew it, the sweat was pouring down my face and my breaths coming out in pants. I ran faster and faster, urging my body along until I was flying.
When I was done, I took the stairs back to my apartment and ate a loaded baked potato because…self care.

Brenda Fadeyibi
Brenda Fadeyibi
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