This year, I had a dream to run 1,000 miles. Yup, 1,000 miles in 2016 because this hashtag is my motto: #headingto50feelingnifty. Somewhere along mile ninety-seven, I injured my left hip. I don’t even know what the heck I did to it. The injury sidelined me, ended my dream, and put me in a perpetual bad mood.

Thus began the long, difficult road to recovery. I’ve been on this journey for nearly seven months now; numerous doctors’ visits, an X-ray, an MRI, and finally, physical therapy.

When I ran, I felt God’s pleasure. When I ran, I felt strong, free, and fantastic. Running brought me life.  Running gave me a new appreciation for my body; appreciation for what my body can do, instead of what it looks like. You can imagine how I felt when I had to stop running. I felt as if I had lost an old friend.

What do you do when a dream doesn’t come true? I’m asking a real question because I usually throw tantrums, beat myself up and wallow in self-pity. Oh, and eat my feelings. All productive activities, right?

In most blogs, this is where the author Suzy-Sunshine’s the situation and tells how they’ve overcome. Hate to break it to ya, I’m not that author. Physically, this year kicked my butt (literally and figuratively.) I don’t know if I will be able to run again or ever accomplish 1,000 miles in a year.  I certainly don’t feel I’m #headingto50feelingnifty. More like #headingto50feelingshiftyminustheF.

I have to accept the fact that I may not be able to run again. I’m not there by any means. That’s okay. It’s a long, emotional process when there is the death of a dream and I’m right in the middle of it.

Every month, I blog with a group of women all writing about the same topic, dream. Click here to read my dear friend Susan’s post on persistent dreaming. Thank you.