I wasn’t much of an athlete besides soccer club in elementary school [it counts, right?] until my sophomore year of high school when I joined the lacrosse and track team. I caught on to lacrosse well and loved it! Track…well, I did it because a) my friends did it and b) I felt hardcore every time the lactic acid built up during an intense workout. Because who doesn’t like throwing up mid-sprint? I was on the JV team and hardly even competed in meets. In other words, they felt too bad kicking me off and were so generous to let me run in a meet or three. This pity-case was drawn out until the end of junior year. My senior year, I graduated early [in December], not because I was a genius, but because I magically and unintentionally had enough credits. Boom baby.
College life rolls around and I didn’t want to gain the freshmen five thousand, so I started leisurely running longer distances like 4, 5, and 6 miles–whoa, uncharted territory. I realized quickly that I loved it. This new love evolved into running 4-6 miles about 5-6 days/week. I couldn’t go without it. Then [fast forward four years] one summer I was hiking with some of my dad’s sisters and they were talking about running a half-marathon together. After some persuasion, I gave in. I was hesitant, but once I signed up and paid the hefty price for a Rock ‘n Roll race, I was stuck. The hubby said I better not waste our money and to train for the dang thing…ahh pressurrrre.
The feeling I had crossing my first finish line was more than I ever expected to feel. I could feel it in my bones that it wouldn’t be the last time I ran a race. Just eight and a half months later and I was crossing the finish line of my first marathon. Since then, I’ve known that not only will leisure running forever be a part of my life, but so will road races and that fancy bling they drape around your neck as you bask in your sweaty, accomplished glory.