Stephen King said, “The scariest moment is always just before you start. After that, things can only get better.” This week we were asked to write a memoir post inspired by that statement – in 300 words or less.
I laced on my shoes quickly and tightly – like a straight jacket – before I could change my mind and face the hassle of undoing the ridiculous knot to take them off. The soles felt worn in and not so cushy and supportive, but they wrapped around my feet in an old friend’s embrace. Like the sometimes awkward fits and starts in that halting conversation with a friend where much time has gone by, I was too self-conscious. Even in the familiar ratty t-shirt and a-little-too-snug shorts that still carried the scent of old sweat from miles logged in my favorite outfit. I stood there for a moment hovering at the threshold of the door.
Uncertain. Desperate. Heavy. Famished.
I ran up to change into a different pair of shorts – ones that didn’t hug my backside so much. I came back down. I ran up to make sure my hair was in the tightest ponytail that wouldn’t need adjusting during the run. I came back down. I ran up again to change my socks – the pair I wore felt too high. I slowly came back down.
I stood again at the edge of the door sniffing the cool autumn air and watching the trees rain leaves down on the pavement against a blue backdrop. The sight called to me promising to be gentle and non-judgmental. Throwing caution and expectation, and especially the ghost of my running past to the wind, I let go of it all and hopped out onto the gravel path and let the wind try to blow me back home.