Back to my Roots...

I am a writer at heart, but the inspiration has been running cold for just about 6 months now. My fingers are paralyzed as they try to create as they had some many times before. The cog wheels of my brain are rusted over, barely moving, as they wait for the WD-40 to loosen them up again. The last story I wrote was in December 2008 about the history of Chapel of the Cross. It was creative, but it wasn't fictional. I have not written anything truly fictional since junior year. The joints begin to regain their usual agility, but it will take a while, like a runner out of practice. Each step feels like the first. You have to refind that rhythm that you cherished and took advantage of in the peak of training. It's harder now to push through the pain because you've only just begun to remember what it felt like. It's an uphill battle on flat ground. One foot in front of the other, remember to breathe. Bring in the cool crisp air that burns your throat and lungs, yet another reminder of what it really feels like to be alive. One step. Two steps. Breathe. Eventually you hit that time when you start to feel the rhythm again. Not the point where it's easy, but the point where you can begin to think about more than just where your feet and legs are and where they should be.
I feel like I've lost my rhythm in a lot of things: writing, reading, life, exercise. I used to swim, run, play sports. Now, it's just so hard to find the inspiration and determination to keep going. I'm honestly not sure where to start. I guess I have to find my beginning and start there, perhaps one day to find the finish line...or make my own.