Running Sucks

I dreaded the yearly jog-a-thons in elementary school and the weekly mile in junior high. In high school, I was one of probably five people who actually received a "B" in Physical Education because a mile and a half was excruciating for me to complete. I decided I was better suited for short(er) distance running and joined the track team.

I liked being a part of the track team. Oreo and chocolate milk picnics in the middle of the football field during a meet with my teammates was a lot more fun than a history lesson. I was not a track star by any means, but I fell in love with the anxiety at the starting line before the gun went off.

In college, I decided that the track meet picnic fare had finally caught up with me. So, I laced up and stepped out for a run. I ran for fifteen miserable minutes, but I was determined to become a "runner". Eventually, I was capable of running an enjoyable five miles and signed up for a 10 K. It was a St. Patrick's Day race with pizza and beer at the finish line, which was a major selling point for me. After the starting gun went off, I raced my heart out. If I could give myself a high-five, that is how I felt at the finish line of my first 10 K.