And I was Running

If you had asked me -- as a kid, teen, young adult -- how I felt about running, I likely would have scrunched my face and responded with an, "ugh. I can't stand running."

As any of my coaches...I was the last one to finish a run, the first one to find an excuse to sit out, and often the one who would get behind and decision to skip it that day at practice.

I started running begrudgingly about 7 years ago. I lived next to the park, and it was easy to throw on my shoes and go for an early or post-work jog. I found myself complaining quite a bit (to myself), my knees hurting, my hips, really, whatever I could find that may hurt would start to hurt. Then my grandma got sick and couldn't walk, and I thought...my body is healthy and still moving despite my whining. I need to be better than this. And, so, I decided to run a half marathon.

Still didn't love it, but did it anyway. And I did a few more, for no real reason, and I kept jogging, though it wasn't my favorite thing.

So imagine my surprise when, the other day, I realized...I am a runner. I run a few times a week. I enter races FOR FUN. I log my miles, keep track and try to correct what may be hurting, and set (slight) goals.

But more than that, I feel gross if I don't run. I now actually NEED to run.

This is so weird to me, and as silly as this sounds, I still have a hard time getting my mind around it. Me, a runner? Running to something other than a beer or my couch? This really, truly, baffles me.