I have always hated running. I didn’t like how it hurt. I found no joy in running further than 200 yards at a time. I was in track, but I was a sprinter – get it over with as soon as possible- that was my motto. My husband started running to get in better shape and lose weight and I thought he was crazy. It only took a year before I decided to give it a try. And, it hurt. I couldn’t go very far and it was disheartening how tired I was after such as short distance. But I kept going, mostly because it was 20-30 minutes out of the house, by myself, with no one clinging on my legs, whining or begging for something. It was my guaranteed alone time. Unlike biking or walking, it was not even possible for me to take a child running with me. I got addicted to the time alone and the feeling of the “runners high” after finishing a run, especially when I met a new milestone – faster mile, longer distance, longer overall run, etc. I quickly hit a plateau last spring after I had started running. Then, as quickly as I had become addicted, I suffered an injury that kept me from running for months – almost kept me from walking. I started to miss and appreciate more that time alone to reflect and as I figured out how to overcome my t-band injury, I got back out on the trail even more determined than I had been before. I ran last fall, trying hard to increase my miles and failing. It seemed that no matter how hard I pushed myself, I could not meet my goal of 3 miles in 30 minutes. I took up some suggestions from fellow runners and decreased my mileage to try to increase my pace and finally one day I said, “Screw it. I’m just going to run one stinking little mile.” And I did – in well under 10 minutes. I started to wonder if I could run further than 3 miles and as I changed things up, I started meeting my goals. I was elated when I ran a 5k in under 30 minutes; so excited not long after when I ran 4.5 miles in under 45 minutes and very pleased when I was able to run 6 miles this summer at the cabin – and in a time of just over an hour.
Don’t tell anyone, but when I get close to meeting a goal and I can see it in the distance, and I give that last little push, every last ounce of effort I have, for the last 20 feet or so, I literally get the chills. Goosebumps on my arms and legs – like my body knows it has overcome an obstacle. And I celebrate, just a little, in my own mind a small accomplishment.
Don’t get me wrong. I still hate running, which is hard to understand. I usually turn my music up loud for the first mile to try to drown out the voices in my head telling me I should just walk or that running is not all that great. After that first mile, I can usually hit a stride that will carry me through my workout goal. Deep down, though, I’m still a sprinter. And when the goal is distance, I just about let my chest explode to pump my legs faster to just get it over with.
I probably will keep running. I’m not up for marathons or races. This is just for me. For now, while my kids are little and beg constantly of my attention, I have a much easier time giving it to them when I have been able to take some time for just me, shoes to the pavement, and run until it hurts.
It sounds like you have made great progress. You have an inspirational story here.