Thursday, November 19, 2015

One Foot in Front of the Other

I was not an athletic kid.  PE was not my favorite.  I tried to play basketball, but I don't think I lasted more than a few games, even if I made it that far (I seemed to have blocked out my memories about this).  I made the cheer squad in elementary school the year there were only 13 girls trying out for 10 spots and I had seniority over the younger girls.  And even then, I was basically the girl doing jazz hands next to the pyramids.  In high school, I was on the softball team... as the manager/statistician (but hey, I lettered!).

The worst days were the ones we had to run.  I distinctly remember try to plead out of a mile and a half run with shin splits or stomach cramps or something (it didn't work, whatever it was).  I could never figure out how to move fast and breathe at the same time.  I may have crawled across the finish line a time or two.  Suffice it to say, running and I were not friends.

Which is why it surprised me to realize that I've been running consistently several times a week, several miles each time, for 10 years.  I started loping along when Chris and I were dating, trying to keep up with him every once in a while.  But after Sammy turned 1, I decided I'd try running since 1) I didn't have a gym membership or fancy exercise equipment in the house, and 2) I needed to get my body moving for many health-related reasons.  So I'd leave my house, jog over to the middle school where they had a nice track, and did laps.  Just a few in the beginning.  Then more.  Holy cow, I was developing some stamina.  Who knew that could happen?

I'm not trying to toot my own horn - I'm genuinely amazed I've kept this commitment for a decade.  It's so not me.  But then again, it is.  It is now anyway. 

I just never thought I'd willing run without being chased.

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