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It was a typical Friday night for my partner and I in Alameda, California–we were wandering up Park Street, chatting about nothing and everything, when we wandered into a favorite locally-owned bookstore (Books, Inc.).

“Don’t let me buy anything,” I told Andy, which is something I seem to say a lot in bookstores.

As we wandered, Born to Run by Christopher McDougall drew my attention. Less than one week before, I’d finished San Francisco’s Bay to Breakers race–a triumph I was still giddy about, since I’d a.) finished (I had signed up for this race several times and never even made it to the starting line because of repetitive injuries), and b.) finished the 7.47 mile course in 1:28, below my goal time of 1:45, and c.) finished in the top 1/3 of all racers and top 25% of all women who participated in the race.

I’d been committed to finishing, even if I walked the entire way. Finishing a full 15 minutes faster that I’d anticipated, and in the top 1/3 of all runners after making a comeback from an injury, had blown me away–I was still trying to figure that one out, because a helluva lot of people had breezed past me (approximately 14,000 people, in fact, out of the 43,000 who finished the race).

So, you know where this is going–I bought the book. Then I devoured it, finishing itin fewer than three days–but this post isn’t about the book. This post is about the realization I had while reading Born to Run.

First, for context, I’ll give you the lowdown on Born to Run: McDougall has an injury (cuboid syndrome, the same injury that I had) and receives the same standard medical advice for it from doctors (there’s nothing that can really be done; quit running; wear orthotics) and he won’t accept that as an answer (which is precisely how I responded). He finds this tribe, the Tarahumara, who run long distances (50, 100 miles, even more) without injury, and they love doing it, and this takes him down a long rabbit hole of finding out that the super-techno ultra-padded orthotic shoes we’re all paying $150 or more for are not actually helpful for running. What’s more, the shoe makers know that, but they also know they probably can’t get you to pay $150+ for shoes unless they convince you that the super-techno ultra-padded orthotic shoes are better for you. More importantly? McDougall comes to the conclusion that we are, in fact, born to run–by evolutionary design–and he’s not alone in that conclusion.

Read the book; it’s fascinating.

But as I said, that’s not what this is about. Here’s the thing:

I. Love. Running.

I actually love it. Adore it. Wish I could do it every day. The idea of waking up, throwing on some clothes and gliding out a few miles? Sounds delicious to me.

But for the past few years, I have not been able to run everyday, like that. McDougall’s research lead him to indigenous tribes in Mexico. My research lead me to a chiropractor who knows how to correct my injury–the one doctor I found who knew what he was doing, among the milieu I saw during two years of searching for answers in a medical community that had no answers–other than, of course, to tell me I could not be a runner.

With the exception of my amazing doctor, I heard again and again and again how “running is bad for you.” I heard again and again the chorus of people who said that you couldn’t fix the type of injury I had. My injury occurred in 2005. It took me until 2011 to be able to regularly run again, and during that time I’ve lived with fear that at any moment, the injury could re-surface. After all, it came out of nowhere last time. What’s to stop it from coming back, again?

I think that I closed my heart off to something I loved when I heard that same, repetitive message. It’s painful to love something and not be able to do it.

To read McDougall’s book was to feel as if I were having a conversation with someone who understood–several people, in fact, because the book is about people who are passionate about running. To spend hours immersed in this world was pure delight–a world where “running is bad for you” was not an acceptable, or even accurate, position.

Regardless of whether or not McDougall’s book had provided anything in the way of answers, it’s important for me to notice this place where I closed off my heart a bit from something I loved. In the days since reading it, I find myself wondering where else in my life I might have done this, because the choice to keep loving openly felt too painful.

And oh– what a limiting life that might be!

It’s worth considering–where in your life do you feel tempted to shut down or not fully love, because you’ve experienced a rejection of sorts, in the past? Where in your life have you heard the message that something is not possible?

And most importantly–how much do you want those experiences to influence your choices?

Kate Swoboda is a Life Coach, teacher and writer who works with women from around the world who are interested in living lives of courage, integrity, passion, and power. She’s the author of the Courageous Living Guides and creator of the Courageous Play and Create Stillness retreats. She’s excited about learning languages, reading as many books as she can, getting bendy-stretchy on the yoga mat, the quest for the next amazing chai latte, and running.