I ran for the first time ever on Christmas Eve 2009, the after day I signed up for my first race, the ING Georgia Half Marathon. My run was full of fear and worry, fear that in 3 months, the 13.1 miles would be far far beyond what this couch potato had imagined.
I would run when my husband pushed me to. I would roll my eyes and mutter under my breath at him, but if running was the only way I could get him to voluntarily stay home with the kids and give me a breather, so be it.
I ran away when my nights were awful from 2 non sleeping babies. Anything to counter the splitting migraine.
I ran everytime I’d get compliments on Facebook. Was I really inspiring people? And even though it didn’t feel so, I must really be as awesome as they think I am!
I would continue to run whenever I had to tighten notches on my belt. Running was making me drop inches like crazy and I wasn’t about to sabotage that!
I ran the day after I faced a lay-off. I went out in frustration. Running made me let go of my depression and I came back filled with positive energy.
I went running the day I was offered a new job. I thought about life changes that this would bring and I wondered if I would be able to handle it. I had just run 12 miles, everything else life threw at me was going to be easy.
I stumbled and ran the day I found out that my 3yo’s classmate had Leukemia. I cried and I prayed and resolved to love my kids a little more.
I ran the day I found out that the 3yo had successfully fought Leukemia and she was coming back to school. I cried and prayed again, this time with thanks.
I ran the day I signed up for Chicago Marathon, my first. I ran with an undercurrent of nervous excitement of what lay ahead.
I signed up to run with my new running group. I’d shy away from running with people, but I still ran. I needed to make my marathon dream a reality and if it meant facing up my fears of running with people, so be it.
I run at the track because they promised me that I would get stronger and faster. Anything to get me moving a little faster than yawning-ly slow.
I ran to train for my second marathon at New Orleans, to prove a point or two to myself.
I run because my training plan tells me to. A complete task oriented person, having a goal pushed me along when my mojo went missing.
I run so my kids can introduce me as a marathoner on career day at school. Its a very very long distance and takes a long time to run, my 3yo informed her teacher.
I run the day a new piece of running gear comes home. Obsessed with running skirts, I am convinced that I have the prettiest collection of anyone I’ve known in real life.
I run because …. well, I don’t need a reason. Somewhere in between the time I took those first steps and now, something changed. I went from a Whiney Runner to a Kumbaya Runner. A runner who hits that high and stays there. A runner with slow legs, but with a big heart and an even bigger smile.
I run just because I want to, and because I can.
This is a piece I’m submitting at Another Mother Runner on Why I Run. It needs to be 600 words, mine is 598!