I sit here in my familiar restaurant, in front of my familiar bowl of soup. With my familiar (and spectacular) waitresses who keep my drink refilled. My pen lies on my notebook and my fingers rest on the keyboard.

And as I sit, I peer over my computer, beyond the blog, beyond Facebook, beyond my email inbox and Twitter. And that’s when I see her.

I’ve never seen her before, but it’s not about who she is, or how pretty she is—well… not completely. It’s what she’s doing.

She’s running.

Yesterday it was a man and his dog. The day before that it was an older lady, 55 or 60 I’d say.

Running.

And just seeing them sets off a chain reaction of emotions.

First and foremost, instinctively, I’m jealous. Since I hurt my knee at the Las Vegas Marathon I’ve only been able to run three times. Three lousy times in 46 days. The pain is just too much to do. And so I envy them as they swoosh past the window. I see them for three seconds and they are gone.

And then, their grace inspires me. It’s the same way we get inspired when we see someone helping someone else. We want to do the same. Naturally, I want to get out there and run.

Which leads to frustration.

I’ve never had an injury, and the “resting” thing just doesn’t seem to be doing the trick. All I want to be doing is training. I feel so pent up with nothing to do. I’m scared to see a doctor. You know… the whole “if it’s not diagnosed, it’s not there” mentality. It kills me to be so inactive. Though, it has pushed me to thinking outside the box with ways to work up a sweat.

Was running a 4:05 in Las Vegas worth it? Without question. But now I’m dealing with something I’ve never dealt with.

It sucks. It’s frustrating. And I don’t wish it on anyone.

But it will get better. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll be wiser for it. (keep all snide “yeah right”s to yourself)