I started running in mid-August. And then I went on vacation and then I started running all over again at the beginning of September. I did Couch to 5k via a handy dandy iPhone app and lots of full-blast Pandora and I hated almost every minute of it but lo and behold, by the end I could run 5k without stopping or dying along the way. And after that I added some distance so that I've actually run 5 consecutive miles a couple of times now.
None of this is all that interesting, except that I have been trying, off and on, to be a runner for about 12 year now, and in all those 12 years I never once managed to put three miles together. I never managed it because I wanted to be fast. I couldn't just run a mile, it had to be an eight minute mile. Never mind if I hadn't exercised in a year and smoked a pack a day. And as soon as I ran one mile I started planning how I would run a marathon. I never, ever made it to a race of any kind. I would burn out, or break my foot, or get pregnant, or something else would happen and I would give it up cold.
And then yesterday, I ran my local Turkey Trot. My goals were to finish and to run the entire way. And I did. I put together some 10-plus minute miles and I high-fived my kids and Mia made me a sign and I ran every step of those 5000 meters and finished just over 32 minutes and I hated every single second of it. But I did it. And now that it is over I am overly proud of myself and feel the need to brag. A lot.
Now, did I ever tell you about that time I got an A in Calculus?