So, this blog had a happy ending. I met a guy, we fell in love, now we live together and everything is lovely. (No, seriously. It’ s been over a year and hot damn! Things are good.) There’s still stuff to say and I might occasionally drop in here, but for the most part I’ve moved on to another adventure: running.
I started running about a year ago and blogged a bit about it here. I ran my first 5k last March, did a 10k in October and in a haze of post-race endorphins signed up to train for a half marathon this April. A half marathon?! What was I thinking? Well, what I was thinking was this (and, lord, I have to remind myself of this over and over again, because EVERY DAY I want to quit. Every. Single. Day.): I don’t have a job right do (boo) and I’m kind of floundering. I thought it would be good to have a goal, a big challenge to overcome. My sister got her running start with Team in Training and had an awesome, life-changing experience (she met her boyfriend there, and a group of women who have become some of her closest friends, and now she runs half a dozen races a year). So I went for it.
Anyway, I’m blogging about it – in particular, about the experience of being a fat runner. Come check it out.
(You can also donate to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and help me meet my fundraising goal.)
Since coming back for the holidays, I’ve been having a hard time running. Some of it’s to do with a new schedule, new obligations, a new relationship – but most of it is because I had a bad running day.
Runners, you know what I mean? Two Wednesdays ago I was scheduled to run. It was raining, so I took a (lovely, lovely) nap instead. Thursday was beautiful; I worked (as a cook, on my feet – this is how I earn my keep these days) all morning and afternoon and decided to go for a run before dinner. For the first time in all my training I just couldn’t do it. I was too wiped out, and I ended up walking almost the whole route. I remember thinking that I needed to be careful not to psych myself out about it, not to lose confidence, to think that one bad run means that I can’t do it.
Yeah. Uh, that’s pretty much exactly what happened. And now I’m feeling insecure and worried, and then I went down to DC for the inauguration (!!!!!!!) and didn’t run at all (although I calculated that I walked about ten miles a day the four days I was there), and now I’m nervous about my next run.
On the flip side, I had a great experience last week: I walked up a hill that I’ve walked a hundred times before, and for the first time I wasn’t out of breath at the top. Sounds silly? It wasn’t that being out of breath was terrible; it was that this was the first real indication I’ve had of improved fitness from my running. The running never seems to get easier, I don’t feel stronger, my clothes don’t fit differently – but I can do something that I couldn’t do before. Awesome. I want more of it. It’s enough to get over my running slump. I’m headed out tomorrow!