Running. I want to like it. I’ve tried. It’s not going well.
If wanting was enough to make it so, I’d be like IronWoman Maria and the Girls. I’d be waking up every morning ready to hit the streets. I would be thrilled at the thought that my 5k is next Friday.
Clearly, I’m missing something.
Tonight, I struggled to jog every other lap. My legs felt heavy, and my feet were on the verge of cramping up after the first mile. I’m still not sure of my stride. I worry about my breathing, my pace, if the right part of my foot is hitting first… The list of crazy goes on and on.
I feel like I’ve missed out on the big secret of enjoying running. Maybe I’m expecting too much and I just need to let it go. Maybe I’m missing it because I’m just too much in my head. Maybe it’ll all come together when I cross the super-cool finish line at the 50 yard line of Memorial Stadium. And then again, maybe it won’t.
If wanting to like running was enough, I’d be running’s biggest fan, we’d be the best of buddies, totally inseparable. Still, it’s not. At least not today.
So, I’m issuing a pre-emptive apology.
(Raising my hands overhead in a most sincere O): Shake, I hereby official O-pologize for the challenge you’ll have next Friday night getting me through the route. I promise to make it up to you as the Best Sherpa Ever when you run your 10k distance on Saturday morning.
Till that moment, I’ll keep working on it, and hope that maybe some nice runner-type will teach me the secret handshake (or agree to dress up as a lion and run behind me next Friday night).