Pride in the Fall

I have a fear of falling.  Big time.  I rather look silly trying to keep my balance than falling.  Falling represents failure, defeat, and shame.

Yesterday I went for my run as usual. I had eaten a small meal, drank my coconut water and I was on my way. At about 1/3 of the way I happened to spot a truck that was going to turn in front of me. I almost got hit the other day from a car so I wanted to make eye contact with the driver. Then it happened. The patch of uneven sidewalk met the tip of my shoe and I went flying into the air.  In that nano of a second I was devastated and thought about how long and shameful the walk home would be.

Then I felt the slap of determination and perseverance wake me up and push me into my next stride. As I ran with the sting of shame and bruises all at once I realized that my journey with running had arrived at a new marker. Today it wasn't how far, fast or how perfect my run was. It was about accepting the fall and discovering the joy that comes after.

When I got back up and realized that my next step was a leap not a slow walk I knew things had changed for me. There was pride in being that runner that seemed to loose it for a minute but just picked herself up, dusted off the bruises and kept going. There is pride in being the woman who failed at a marriage but picked her heart up and kept it beating. There is pride in being the mother that goes to bed exhausted from the days fighting, endless cleaning marathons, and cook offs but wakes up in the morning to renewed plans for splash pads, bike rides and paper air plane tutorials. There is pride in being the fat woman who let herself go but continues to find new pieces of herself in her new life. There is pride in being the person that accepts the fall and waits for the push that follows.