I am a runner.
Well, no. I want to be a runner. I run. I guess that’s more accurate. I have such trouble identifying myself as a runner because I often don’t take it seriously. There’s a lot of people in my life that can vouch for this, too. Anyone from high school reading this? I whined at every drill forced upon us during soccer practice. Hey college friends- remember that brief period where I vowed to run a marathon? I didn’t get through the first two weeks of training before giving up. I followed this pattern for a long time.
Then I moved to Philadelphia. Guess what? City gyms are INSANELY expensive (especially when I was making hostess/grad student wages). I wanted to get in better shape, and I thought running was the cheapest form of exercise I could start.
I knew I needed serious motivation, so I quickly signed up for the half-marathon that was five months away (at the time, I was running around 5 miles a week). I trained hard and finished the race. I have never been so proud of myself for accomplishing anything and knew I needed to continue. I ran a 10k a few weeks later (more for the cash raffle at the end) but soon slowed down my pace. In fact, I haven’t ran in almost a month because of the cold and snow.
Here’s where you come in, reader. I signed up for the Broad Street Run (10 miles) AND joined a team running a very serious 200 mile relay in upstate New York (read: hills). These races are two weeks apart from each other. There is no delaying this anymore. I need to train. You need to bully me into doing so. Do I look fat or lazy? Tell me. Maybe that’s how I’ll be able to see myself as a runner- keep me going.
Coming up: I’ll write about my potentially life-changing experience running in Vibram FiveFingers. Look elsewhere for the scientific data behind this philosophy, but know that I support it.