...and I ran...(so far away)

I was a very active child, playing pick up kick ball games in the street, tag in the yard, basketball in the driveway. In grade school, like most kids, I played basketball and volleyball. I played rec league softball. I never played a sport for my high school, I made it the furthest in softball tryouts, and realized quickly my volleyball skills, which had been pretty good at the grade school level, did not compare to these other girls. I was not athletic. My brother, on the other hand, was the athlete--basketball, baseball, football. He always had a game. I always had a play. I was perfectly ok with this. I had no dreams of athletic scholarships. Of course, I loved to hike and rollerblade, I liked to push myself. I just wasn't on a court or a field. Then at 35 years old, I had this crazy fitness idea. I was going to run. ...Not into a store seconds before it closed, not down the street to chase the escaped dog, not to catch the bus. Not even to get the last pair of cute flats in my size. I was going to run for the challenge, the goal setting, to prove to myself I could. and so I started training. I followed an app. I was discplined and dedicated. I registered for a 5K and a 10K. But then I noticed I wasn't getting distance. I got nervous. I reached out to a friend. She made me a plan. I followed it like it was my job. I pushed myself, completed each challenge. Refused to quit. I had the drive, the dedication, the discpline. The accountability. I started getting the distance. Slowly, but like my friend said, a mile is a mile, if you do it in 6 minutes or 15 minutes. Then the strangest thing happend. I started craving it. I couldn't wait to put my shoes on and run. I was accomplishing goals. It felt good. I felt accomplished. I noticed small changes in my body and that motivated me more. I knew it would take time, but that I would get there. Then I got sick. Run down. Stress, worry, life, work. My body had enough. I was sick twice in two months, the last episode putting me down for 3 days. I didn't run. I felt weak, tired, not strong, not good. It would have been easy to say well, that was nice while it lasted. I could have said "well, I was never going to do it anyway." But I am not a quitter. I don't give up. I am tenacious. I am a fighter. So today, I strap on my shoes again. and I run. ...Not into a store seconds before it closed, not down the street to chase the escaped dog, not to catch the bus. Not even to get the last pair of cute flats in my size. But towards my goal--I have a 5k and a 10K approaching.