Running: One year later

A year ago this month, I put on my old pair of Nikes and went for a run.

For as long as I can remember, I have hated running. I hated feeling like I was breathing through a straw, all while looking like a fish out of water, gasping. I hated that my lungs burned, and my legs burned, and that for hours after I was done I would cough anytime I did something silly like laugh or talk or breath just slightly too deeply. Mostly, I hated that doing something to get in shape made me feel so woefully out of shape.

But last year, I hated how I felt about myself more than I hated running. I was carrying extra weight from having Ellie, which would have been a fine excuse if she hadn't been almost 2. I had expected the weight to fall off like it did with Elaina, so I never changed the way I ate or never exercised, minus a few halfhearted attempts at a Jillian Michaels dvd. Newsflash: doing nothing changes nothing. Who would have thought, right? I was tired of feeling fat. I was tired of being jealous of runners who seemed to effortlessly float down the street. And so I decided that since I hated running, that's exactly what I was going to do.

Tonight, I put on my new pair of Nikes and went for a run.

I was having a bit of a rough night. Mom and Dad and Rachel, Lips, and Nehemiah are on their way to Kenya, and they'll be gone almost a month. Mom called while we were having dinner, and we got to say goodbye to her and Dad, and then I spent the next hour trying rather unsuccessfully not to cry. It's not that I don't want them to go, I just don't want them to go. We had planned on going to the park after dinner to serve as a distraction, but when the girls misbehaved during dinner, that privilege was revoked and I was stuck at home feeling sorry for myself.

Josh suggested I go for a run. Two years ago, I would have laughed in his face.

But tonight, I changed into my running clothes (yes, Erika--the sheltie shirt made an appearance), strapped my phone on my arm, and David Crowder and I went for a run around our neighborhood.

It was humid and bright--perfect running weather. The music had a good beat, and I found my rhythm pretty quickly. I never once felt like I was going to die. I ran for almost a half hour, and when I came home, I felt better.

I don't hate running anymore. I probably still look like a fish gasping for air when I run. I'm not the fastest person out there, and I am so impressed with people who can run any length of race because I haven't worked up the confidence to try myself. I'm not great at it, but I'm not going to quit. And I think that's half the battle, anyway--just putting on my shoes and walking out the door.

(And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to stalking the Flight Aware website that is allowing me to follow my family's flight. One day down, only a bazillion more to go...)