500 Miles

When I was a chubby middle schooler, I had the great misfortune of being involved in an "off-season" athletics class, or, "a class for kids who tried out but lacked the general skills required to participate in volleyball, basketball, track, cross country, or swimming at the junior high level." On particularly bad days the coaches made us run a mile around the track. Run. Outside. Four laps. Fat kid. Suffice it to say, I was lucky to make it around one curve per lap without stopping to walk, and if I succeeded at that I had a chance of finishing in less than 30 minutes.

I've been pretty content to walk since then, especially since I sort of look like a pregnant duck when I run (and I use this term "run" very loosely--what I do is more like a brisk walk with bigger leg lifts and more arm movements) and I'm happy to deny the general public the entertainment. I've had to contend with a few bouts of motivation in the past year, given that it seems like everyone in this town does it (including my boyfriend) and no one could ever accuse me of being a rebel, but those were usually cured after one failed attempt at making it out of my complex before doubling over in a fit of wheezes. UNTIL THREE WEEKS AGO, when I mapped out a 1-mile course and challenged myself to run 1/4 of it without stopping and not only succeeded, but was then able to run ANOTHER 1/4 of a mile after catching my breath. And the next day the strangest thing happened--I ran the course again and made it even farther before I had to stop. And then I did it again! And, dear readers, today I ran close to 3/4 of that mile, walked the remaining 1/4, conquered the whole thing in 15 minutes, and was still breathing when I walked into my apartment! Success is sweet!