Lying in my bed in the morning I often spend lots of
time there just thinking long meandering thoughts. One recurring thought I’ve had is, “I wonder
if I could run to the end of my street.”
I live on a long country road a half a mile from the end. I don’t know how many times I’ve thought this
thought since moving here 4 years ago. I
also don’t have any clue as to why one weekend morning 2 months ago I got out
of bed, put on some gym shoes and decided to find out the answer.
The answer was, obviously, “um no sweetie, you can’t
run that far”. But then a weird thing
happened. I got up the next morning and
tried again, and the next day and the next.
I went “running” every morning for a week. I still couldn’t make it to the end running
the whole way, but I was trying. I
brought along my husband’s inhaler and would hit it every other minute until I
was shaking from the albuterol. Can’t
run? Just you watch me.
Each day I went a little farther, I’d turn the corner
at the end and go a little longer before turning back. I did a mile, mile and a half, two
miles. I still couldn’t run for a long
distance, but I’d jog and walk and jog and walk. Trying to cut the walking time down each
time. With the exercise induced asthma I
often started strong and by the 2nd or 3rd interval I was
really hurting.
The day I did two miles I mostly walked it. I had a cramp in my side and my shoe was killing my foot. Even though I had gone
farther than I’d gone before, I felt defeated.
Instead of the victory of distance, I felt the defeat of only walking
rather than the jog/walk I’d been doing.
The progress I’d made that week, eating a little healthier, upping my
water intake – that was all because of the dream of running and it was all
about to change.
Does this make sense? No, of course not. But maybe that’s why my daughter gets
incredibly frustrated when she can’t do something perfectly the first time she
tries. She’s just like me. When you are good at plenty of things and then
you come across something you’re not so good at, it’s easier to quit than be
frustrated. So I did. And for the next week, I didn’t run. Or walk.
I ate as much junk food as I wanted, maybe more. I drank more pepsi than normal. I was, for
some reason pissed off and feeling rebellious.
Oh yeah body? You’re 37 years old
and you can walk 2 miles but you can hardly run? I’ll show you!
But after a week, my pity party wore off and I decided
to try again. And I kept trying. Don’t ask me why. I’d go every other day. And 2 weeks later, I ran all the way to end
of the road without stopping! Cue that
Rocky music!! And I think that’s when my
head got on board.
Over the next few days I started to increase my
distance. A mile, a mile and a half, two
miles – still jog/walking but hell, still going. I’d feel awesome on the days I ran, lousy on
the days I didn’t. It’s hard to get the
motivation to put on a sports bra and layers of clothes when your warm bed is
calling you back, but:
So this may be a thing now
for me. Who woulda thunk? I’m not here to motivate or inspire because
I have no idea how this started. Other
than one day I got up and put on some running shoes and stepped out the
door. But it’s 2 months later and here I
am still doing it.
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