That first run back after injury.

The first 30 seconds felt like I was a baby girraffe taking my first steps, and at least in my mind must have looked like it. Then, with each successive 30 second run I found my stride, grew in confidence, and by the third rep the tears were coming. I was running. After 105 days without one of the things I love most in life, I was back. The walks became me just trying to compose myself between bouts of running, and I knew I was getting faster and faster but I was so, damn, happy. Nothing was hurting. Despite the foreigness of it all again, I felt strong, and capable. Everything I love about the movement was reawakening in me.