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This week, I’m running through pain. My very dearest girlfriend in the whole world is moving this week. In two days she’ll be a resident of a city that is 800 miles from me. This week, I am running through some pretty serious pain. I’m so sad.

In the less-than-three years we have been friends we have become as close as sisters. In many ways, she made me a runner. It was around this time in 2010 that that we had this conversation,

K: “Want to train for a 1/2 marathon with me?”

Me: “Um, no. I don’t like to run for longer than 30 minutes.”

(a few days later) K: “Well, I signed up! I’m excited!”

Me: “Fine, I’ll do it.”

She kind of created a monster, and she probably owes my husband an apology for turning me from a person who tolerated running because of it’s butt-shrinking, mood-lifting benefits into a person who just genuinely enjoys the activity of running.

At the start before our first 1/2 marathon

We have run together, traveled together, weathered health scares together, dealt with career choices together, counseled each other when other relationships in our lives were bottoming out, prayed together, worshiped together, and generally looked out for each other for the past few years. She is the only person who’s ever watched me finish any of the 1/2 marathons I’ve done.

I’m beyond blue this week. I spent New Year’s Eve baking cakes for her going away party, and then the first day of 2012 was spent helping to hostess the party. It wasn’t my finest New Year’s ever. Getting up for a simple four-miler this morning was hard. I went back to bed this afternoon and had to drag myself out again to go to BodyPump and to do my other two miles for the day (that I didn’t do this morning because it was too hard to get up). I know it will get better. I know we will see each other, and often–she’s coming to DC to support my marathon effort in March; I’m running a 1/2 with her in May.  And the opportunity that awaits her is amazing (big city living! A high-rise apartment overlooking Lake Michigan! Easy access to a Title 9 store!). I’m truly thrilled for her. I’m so very sad for me.

Thankfully, you can run and cry pretty freely. People just think you’re sweaty and hurting. It’s times like this that I’m so thankful for running. As a way to cope with this pain. To work through it, or to forget about it. And as a way to bring us back together again.