Learning to run

I run to stay in shape. I don't possess the whippet-like physique or preternaturally graceful movements that most people associate with runners, but still, I go outside or get on the treadmill five days a week at least and do a slow pound through a few miles. And, as I see my body becoming leaner and my muscular frame become more pronounced, I know it's working for me.

Running is the sort of impressive activity that inspires a picture of spandex-clad muscle bounding out the door each morning, ready and gleeful to face a punishing sprint down a long stretch of cement or to skip through the woods like a deer, perhaps with a trail of butterflies fluttering behind. I assure you, this is not the case. Witness my slow grind down a riverside trail during the summer, complete with an occasional mosquito inhalation cough and periodic stops to empty my stomach of its contents. Nothing wood sprite-like about it.

Still, even as stick-thin antelope types breeze past me to complete more miles in less time, I feel good about myself and know that even if they outstrip me in speed, technique, fitness level and ability, we have a shared love of perhaps the least enjoyable physical activity any of us could have chosen. This sort of binds us together, though I suspect it's more on my end than on theirs. After all, they move really fast and there's no way to tell if they noticed the tall girl trying not to faint as she plodded down the trail.

Running sucks, no way around it, but every day when I start my workout, nothing beats the feeling that maybe today I can push myself a little harder and surprise myself again with what I can do. Sometimes it happens, sometimes not, but there's still nothing like starting to run with all that road in front of you.