I hit a sad realization over the weekend: my arthritic hip won't let me attempt a half-marathon next month. After I ran-hiked an 8K on Saturday, the hip yelled at me all day and night, and I knew if I tried doing 13.1 miles on pavement, I would destroy what's left of it.

So, I did what I considered the unthinkable: I dropped to the 5K.

Immediately, I felt loss and like the character of Fran, in "Strictly Ballroom," the secretly talented ballroom dancer who is relegated to the beginner's group because no one realizes her ability -- until she meets a handsome, talented dancer who lost his partner.

For me, running is Scott Hastings: the thing you want so much and who you hope will pick you.

Running, once I was capable of it, was this challenging, yet gleeful feeling. I belonged! I could do it and fit in! I was so happy.

Until reality and age settled in.

Sorry, my brain is still processing all of this and I am feeling kind of shattered, still.

I did sign up this morning to volunteer at the marathon finish line next month. It will not be the same, but will be better than not going.

I haven't given up on running/hiking, because -- honestly -- nothing else will fill that void. I'll let you know when I figure this all out.