Running

I went for a a run. A jog. No, I'm not speaking metaphorically. I mean, I put on my sweats, grabbed my iPod, and hit the streets. Surprised? Me too.
I got back from my mission a year ago. Most people close to me know the story: I came home early, tried to get healthy, got no definitive diagnosis, and ended up being released after about four months of limbo. (See the "A Personal Essay" post for more insight into the delightful story...) I've clawed my way up from that demoralizing position over the last year and am happy with where I am in life. Things are going well. Much better than last year, at least. But my mysterious "condition" still holds me hostage, so to speak.
I am incapable of exercising for any period of time because of, well, complicated medical issues that I don't really want to go into. I've been seeing a lot of furrowed brows and hearing a lot of I-don't-knows in doctors' offices for the past year and have all but given up on the hope that the medical community could possibly offer me any answers. I've wondered if I'll have to resign myself to an inactive lifestyle for the rest of my days. Life is going well, but this particular situation was looking bleaker than ever.
Then I realized: I am not powerless! I alone have control over my body and I'm going to get back to normal or die trying. I'm not going to sit back and shrug off missed opportunities and deflated self-esteem due to some unquantifiable disorder that has baffled the best medical minds of Brazil, Sacramento, and Provo. If I can't nurse my body back into health, I'll beat it into submission. So, I went running. The run was short distance-wise but took a pretty long time, I must say. I only threw up a little and despite the clutching my side and gasping for air, I felt like the strongest man alive when I arrived again at my doorstep. Yeah, it sucks. But I'll do it tomorrow. For longer. And the next day. And the next.
I want my life back.