Today I ran

I got up this morning and ran on the treadmill. Mostly because I ate a blizzard last night and completely blew my calorie count for the day, but also because taking three or four days off between runs makes the running I do sort of…hard.

Sometimes when I run I let my mind wander places it normally wouldn’t go. This morning I was thinking about how I got into running. In elementary school I was NOT into sports. I hated the thought of doing anything more active than riding my bike to the library to check out books I should NOT have been reading – hellloooo? Dad? Your 10 year old is reading “Carrie” and wishing she was telekinetic. In junior high, I played volleyball and basketball but stayed far far away from track – who would be lame enough to do THAT?! Then I moved to Shithole, Colorado (otherwise known as Cotopaxi – sorry, Stephi). I played volleyball and basketball that first year and when track rolled around I joined because everyone else did. I was going to be a high jumper not because I could actually jump, but because I thought they wouldn’t have to run. Turns out, I couldn’t jump. Not at all. Not even a little bit. So at our first “practice meet” my coach said, “go try running the 100.” I did. I beat everyone. Whoa. Weird. So I started running. I was always a sprinter, though. No distance for me. Then at the end of the season, my coach said, “we’re starting a cross country team next year and I think you should join.” Uh…..no. He said, “you’re a terrible volleyball player (yes, I was), so you should do this to at least get in shape for basketball (which was “MY” sport).” He was a smart man, that one.

So I began cross country. And I was TERRIBLE. I didn’t want it to hurt, so I went slow. Or I walked. That first year, I finished last at the state meet (after riding the coattails of my teammates to get there – thanks, Stephi!). It did make me better at basketball though and even in track. And for three years I ran every fall and every spring. And I sort of liked it. And then I went to college and I ran there – and I made it hurt, both on the roads and on the track. And I got to be okay at it, but more importantly, I started to like it a lot.

Years went by and I ran on and off through coaching, through being pregnant with Megan, through my divorce, through needing to lose weight. Two years ago I started training for my first 10K and it was fun. I loved, like I always have, the racing. I loved being fit and toned and looking good. And then I stopped.

Why, I don’t know. It’s always been a love-hate thing with me: I love the product of sticking to it for weeks at a time, I hate getting through the first few weeks. I love the fitness, I hate the work. I love the race, I hate the training. I love that it gives me time to think, I hate what I sometimes think about.

But I’m back on the road (well, the treadmill…it’s cold). And it hurts. And I think about all I’ve lost and all that will be a challenge in the coming months. But then I think about how I got here. I think about my coaches and my friendships and my successes and I realize that at the heart of my life, running has always been a part of that. And I find a reason to go one more step, one more minute, one more mile.

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