(Just so you know, I do not enjoy this flared nostril, hurry up and take the picture so I can find a bush to barf in look.)
I started running because my runner sister -in -law Apryl is so skinny and fit it breaks your heart. That's the truth of it. It was purely vanity.
I thought that if in some universe I could run for miles than there would be no possible way I could remain fat. Apparently even fat people can run for miles. My mistake.
Last Saturday I ran a 5k. I had on spandex and a crinkly paper number pinned to my belly. This was quite a change from my norm. The whole experience was a mixture of elation/humiliation. I was elated to be part of something. There was music, there were teams, there was a balloon arch starting line and I got to run by and grab a cup of water and toss it during the race. (I've always wanted to do that haven't you?) There was my husband hooting and my kids pogo sticking up and down at the finish line. A friend snapped a photo and a random fireman leaned over and clapped me through my last 50 feet. It was heartwarming to have the support.
I was also served the fattest slice of humble pie I've ever choked down! Oh. It hurts me. I expected to have the majority of the runners pass me in the first few minutes. I did NOT expect said runners to be literally (I lie not) 80 years old and wearing a very visible diaper under their running shorts, or 100 lbs heavier than me. Pushing a double stroller. Nor did I expect to look behind me mid race and see not ONE person running. All of them were walking. I sort of wanted to run right off of the course and go into someones yard and hide under a trampoline.
Okay, so I'm not as awesome as I thought I was. Okay, so I haven't lost one single pound. (Whoever said runners can eat whatever they want - dirty lie.) Okay, so I'm sort of nursing a throbbing black eye from reality punching me in the face. I haven't run once since the race. I'm in a kind of "what now?" funk.
The truth of it is that I can't compare myself. I have to appreciate how far I've come. I remember wringing my hands and waking up all night the night before I was to conquer a huge hurdle on my beginning runner's program. The task: Run four minutes. I was POSITIVE I couldn't do it. Then, I did it and I cried like a little baby on the side of the road. That is something my friend. That IS something.
Now I can run for 45 minutes. I can't run fast. I don't look good in my spandex, that's for sure. But I stuck with something for once. I ran for 6 months straight and I'm not giving up. I dread these cold dark winter mornings coming up, but hey. It can be done. I get what I want and I want to be a runner.