I went for a run today. Seriously, I did. I was at home doing work, emails, etc. The hubs came home a little early and decided to go for a long bike ride. Frustrated that I could not accompany him and that I had not gone to the gym that day, I decided to get out of the house.
As I put on athletic clothes, I had a thought, “What if I could go for a run, like all of my super athletic friends?” I have always had romantic ideas about running, just getting out of your house and moving quickly through streets, people, going to the lakeshore path and hi-fiveing all the other runners (Ok that probably doesn’t happen).
I went out the front door, crossed Sheridan and started walking. Then faster. Then faster. Then running. Really running. Instead of joy, I felt dread. I expected sudden pain. Yet it did not come, at least not in the way I expected. My joints felt fine, but my muscles in my legs felt so heavy and weak. I ran about a half mile before I had to walk. My heart was pounding so hard, it actually scared me. I walked for a while and ran the last probably .1 mile to my house where I found the hubs and Elphie waiting for me outside. (I had left a note that said “gone for a walk/run”). In that last .1 mile running towards my husband and dog, I finally felt the joy of what I was doing. I let myself feel good about running rather than frustrated about how terrible I was at it. I just kept thinking, “I’m 29 years old and I should be able to run.”