Running sucks...kind of.

"Really?!?! Really?!?!”

This is the reaction I get when I tell anybody who knew me before a month ago that I’m running. (If you can’t pull up the visual of shock in your head, ask Billy to reenact it for you.)

I grew up with 5 brothers and ZERO sisters. Therefore, things such as slimy animals, farts, dirt, sweat, and sports grossed me out. I was primarily a pink-on-pink kind of girl and had decided that any female shouldn’t want to be anything other than a ballerina.

In middle school, I dreaded going to P.E. I couldn’t understand why any girls would be excited to kick a ball around in 90% humidity under a bright, bright sun. I couldn't understand why girls CHOSE to play softball, basketball, soccer, etc. These girls scared me to death and to me, they were the same as my sweaty, smelly brothers. I would always scoff at the female college athletes and thought that they were sadly wasting their time on silly pursuits.

The truth is, I’ve realized, that I would make fun of these women because they could do what I couldn’t: they could run. In my entire life, I think I’ve run a total of 4 laps around the track with my college roommate, who herself was a track and field athlete. I envied that she could keep running and running and not exhibit the exhaustion that I exhibited 2 minutes into my run. I never gave running a chance and the fact that I would stop the minute my breathing became even the slightest bit laborious was not conducive to me ever running. Again.

So, fast forward 10 years and here I am, just finishing my fastest mile ever: 7:51.

What made me decide to go running? Well, a few things: Billy has run in 6 marathons and NEVER talks about it (if I had done the same, I would wear every medal with every outfit every single day) and I would like to be able, one day, to beat him in a footrace. His mother, an avid runner who has run in lots and lots and lots of marathons, kept asking me when I would run a marathon with her. I would smile and roll my eyes thinking, yeah riiiiight, but the seed was planted. I WANTED to prove to myself that I could run. I wanted to get to the point where I could run and run and run and not feel the terrible burning pain in my lungs, legs, sides, shoulders, etc and finally feel that “high” that everyone talks about.

And I’m hooked. I’m running a decent amount now and am feeling better than ever, although I still haven't felt that elusive high. I did, however, run in my first 5K a week ago and, although the hills KILLED me, I did pretty well. So, what’s the moral to this longwinded story? Being a ballerina doesn’t pay the bills; running doesn’t either, but it’s a heck of a lot cheaper to do…