I Hate Running

Really, I do. I so want to be one of those people who run 12 miles and then come back and say what a meditative and cathartic experience it was. But I’m not. I’m one of those people who the whole time thinks, ‘if I make it to the next mailbox…to the stop sign…I’m going to have Taco Bell after this if I make it back home…’ Add to that the first act lyrics to Hamilton and then a bit of cursing for running even being a thing and you have entered my mind.

Growing up, my dad always told me I had the build for a good runner. I was long legged and fairly tall (is 5’7 tall?). I had a natural athletic build and in my younger days had the drive to be an athlete. I played soccer when I was late elementary school all the way through middle school. But by the time I got to high school I found theatre and the sports died away.

When I did run it was in spurts. My sister always got mad at me because I would start the run like a bat out of hell and then walk for a minute when I was tired. Then when I saw her catching back up, I would run again. Cycle repeat until complete. The thing is I never tried and I didn’t care. As I got older, I started using the elliptical and then later did a test to train myself to run a 8 minute mile. I made it to 8:50. Close enough.

This year, after moving back from Orlando, I realized I was out of shape and gained far too much weight. UGH. I hated the way I felt. So I started working out. I train with a trainer twice a week and have never missed a session. Tomorrow will be session number 68! I decided a few months ago to sign up for the full marathon at Disney world.


If I make it, I swear you will see a picture of me weeping crossing the finish line. My training consists of me running less than 2 miles and wondering how the heck I will ever do 24 more. When I do, I’ll let you know.

Highlight: I cut one minute off of my mile. Woo!


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