I’ll preface this post with brutal honesty. I did not run yesterday. I did enjoy a nice walk around the neighborhood with my husband. And that’s okay.
My journey to running began as teenager. When I was about 13, my 40ish year old mother took up “running”; I don’t remember it ever being called “jogging” in my family. She would run down our gravel road to the lake with our golden retriever. She always invited my brother and I to join, but I was too buys talking on the phone. She even ran local 5ks, and encouraged us to join. She always won- we never ran. At age 13, I had never played a competitive sport, and it had been 2 years since my last ballet class. I was an active kid; always playing in the woods, rollerblading, or playing capture the flag with the neighbors. Running sounded boring to me. I probably would have been good at sports. I got the presidential fitness award, and was always the fastest girl in my class for the 1 mile run. (Too busy talking on the phone, remember?)
At age 14, I finally signed up for soccer. My younger sister and older bother played. My best friends played. I was always at the soccer fields anyway, and there was nobody to talk to on the phone while they were playing anyway. I joined the high school team the following year. For the next 4 years, running was something I did for soccer. Around town, around the track, and even in the halls of the school if the weather was bad. But never so much as a 5k race, despite my Mom’s encouragement.
At 18, I headed off to college. I didn’t exactly gain the freshman 15, but I was in soccer shape either. I bought a pilates video, and pretended to run around campus (probably less than a mile, once every few weeks). Eventually, I realized I needed to get in shape. So, twice a week I ran to the gym (1 mile) for an abs class. I considered this staying active, but hey, at least I wasn’t at happy hour.
Sophomore year rolled around, and I was still trying to make it to abs class twice a week. Then, one fall weekend, I went home to visit my parents. SOMEHOW, my dad convinced me to run a 5k. (My poor Mom! She invites me dozens of times, my dad asks once!)
We woke up early Saturday morning, and set out for the most miserably life changing 30ish minutes of my life. My dad slowed down and stayed with me the whole way, cheering me on. I didn’t walk, but it didn’t feel good until I crossed the finish line. I WON my age group! Okay, I was the only person in my age group, but STILL! I LOVED the sense of accomplishment I got from finishing this race, and the comradarie of doing it with my dad. I actually found the plaque from this race cleaning out my old room at my parents house last weekend, and I kept it. Picture coming soon!
To Be Continued!! Part 2 coming later this week!
But- Spoiler alert-
I run more races. A lot more races.