I used to say I couldn’t run and that I’d never be able to. Any time I tried, I was sure I was dying. My lungs felt like they would burst, my legs burned, my face would go beet-red and I was certain my heart would pound its way through my chest and land pulsing before me on the sidewalk.
Afterwards, I would have a gross slippery cough that would last the rest of the day. You know the kind, the kind where you chuckle and end up coughing like a heavy smoker and hacking up a piece of internal tissue.
I always wanted to be able to run though, so last spring I told myself enough is enough. I mean, if the contestants on the Biggest Loser can do it, if the old guy I see running by the river can do it, why in the world can’t I?
I laced up my runners and went for a jog. The first day took me to the end of my street. But I kept at it for a couple months and even though it never got easier, I found I could run further and further. It got to the point where I could run about a kilometer without stopping.
Then summer came and I had other things to do.
When January rolled around though, it was time to start making some new resolutions. I want to get into better shape, especially since next year I’ll finally be 40. I want to feel healthy and strong, maybe even get into the best shape of my life. That would be pretty cool.
So I asked a friend if she would sign up to run a half-marathon with me in October. A half-marathon is like 21 km long. Now that I’ve been steadily running for a month and a half and can only go about 3.5 km without stopping, I wonder if I may have overshot that goal.
But this is the point: I’ve got a goal.
The icing on the cake is that the person I signed up to run the half-marathon with is ultra-competitive and I know she would hate to have me outrun her. And be darned if I’ll let her outrun me.
I’ve been running three times a week and have been pushing myself hard. The biggest obstacle, however, is not the burning lungs and pounding heart. It’s the voice on autopilot in my head that groans and whimpers about how hard running is.
When I’m out there, it seems like a constant battle to silence that voice. I have a good imagination though, and envision Bob Harper and Dolvette and Jillian Micheals running behind me, telling me I can do it. And guess what? I can.
I’m certainly not about to call myself a runner, but maybe someday I will. Maybe someday I will have those hard lean legs that runners have, and walk around feeling supercharged and super-positive from a runner’s high.
I may not be fast and I’m surely not elegant but I can run, baby. And I’m going to continue.
