For years now, I’ve secretly admired runners.
Those folks you always see on the side of the road that seem to run forever, never stopping.
I remember telling my husband back a few years ago about my desire to be a runner. It was the first time I said it out loud and I remember feeling like a dufus while telling him…the exact thing I didn’t want to happen. Wishing I had just kept it to myself.
When I was a kid and had to run the mile in PE class, I was always one of the kids that finished last. It seemed like the entire class would be inside the track cheering me to finish before the 12 minute time limit was reached. Telling me that if I didn’t hurry, I would have to run it again tomorrow, and it was supposed to rain that day.
With shortness of breath, pain piercing my sides and my pulse so loud in my ears it was deafening, I would finish the mile just shy of 12 minutes every time.
Boy was I glad when PE was no longer mandatory and I could choose art or photography.
I’ve never been a good runner, but I want to become one now.
This morning, with my husbands encouragement and my kids cheering me on, I loaded up my black Lab and the two of us headed to the coast.
Choosing a running partner that won’t ever utter a discouraging word was a very wise decision on my part. He was grateful for a short run along the coast that ended with a little game of fetch before heading back home. We weren’t gone long, but it was a start.
It was a small victory.