The morning of Wednesday, January 13, 2021, was glorious because, for the first time in more than sixteen years, I [kind of] ran!

As I have previously mentioned, on May 30, 2005, I suffered a traumatic brain injury after I jumped off a highway overpass to avoid an oncoming car. I was in a coma for thirteen days and in a wheelchair for months. Due to some lingering spasticity and desensitization in my left leg, I have been unable to run since the accident.

Admittedly, two days ago, I did not participate in a 5k or an Ironman comp. Hell, I don’t even know if what I did could be glossed as “running”: I trotted for approximately 60 yards. Then I did it again for about thirty more yards. At that point, my leg stopped cooperating and . . . wait for it . . . I was breathing heavily. Holy shit, I was on the verge of being out of breath.

I nearly yelled to release the stoke I felt. However, I remained silent in an effort not to startle the woman, who walked nearby, and the child she pushed in a stroller. (I am considerate like that. Mr. Nobel, I’ll expect a call about your Peace Prize.) Thinking back to the sprint, errrrrrrrr, momentary scamper still fires me up.

The minor accomplishment offers an exponentially larger lesson: Nothing awesome comes easily or quickly. Some stagnation, setbacks, and frustrations are annoying aspects of progress. But in time, often a longer time than I would prefer, consistent effort produces results.