When I was much, much younger, we’re talking half my age, I entertained all of these fantasies of running. I held on to them for years and years. The year I turned thirty, I decided that it was time to either start running or let the dream fall to the wayside. That year, I decided that I’d give that year to running, and that if I didn’t like it afterwards, then I would let it go. That year, I got into it. That year, I ran a 10k, a 10 mile race, and later a half marathon. I completed two more half marathons. And finally a marathon.
That marathon did a number of me. It was sort of the end of my fairly consistent running. I was under-trained going into that run and had caught a nasty cold the weeks leading up to that race. I finished, and crossing that finish lines is one of the accomplishments that I’m most proud of. However, after crossing that line, I was pretty sure that I never wanted to do that again. Without a next goal, quite a bit of the wind was stolen from my running sail.
I was browsing at the library when I picked up My Year of Running Dangerously. I like books about people reaching their goals. I’m a real sucker for that genre. Can I call that a genre? Anyway, I finished reading that book a couple days ago, and it made me feel like running. For real. I got up that afternoon and took to the road. It had been probably over a year since I last ran (that I remember anyway), and I decided to give it a go. I did some run/walking, and was glad to have done so, even though it was hot as all get out.
Today, I went again.
This time with no walk breaks.
That’s how I started running several years ago. Back then, knowing that I could run for a couple miles, without walking made running much more appealing.
And for me, so does music.