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.