So many expressions involve running, you'd think it was important or something. I run. I can't yet call myself "a runner." Actually, I still blush and dodge when that label is applied to me. I'm not sure what the distance requirement, or speed limit, or other qualification might be to be "a runner," but it isn't me. All the same, I do run.
I started running for exercise, I guess. There are those extra 10-15 pounds, the ones my doctor calls "probably muscle" and my mother calls "just nature." Like most unathletic 30-something women, I was looking for a way that my body could shrink without requiring much of me. My choice of exercise was made practically... running is (or can be) free. And running need not be a "sport" unless you want it to. Running seemed safe, noncommittal. The game could never go too fast for me, I couldn't lose and, timed strategically, nobody ever needed to see me sweat. These were my criteria... cheap and anonymous, and easily abandoned.
An amazing thing has happened, though. I have not become thin, but I have become strong. I, who started playing the violin largely in order to conflict with gym class... I, who picked up a boyfriend so that he could cover me in volleyball... I, am strong. There are still the spots that make me cringe (hello to you, too, flabby armpitish/ribcageish nemesis!) But overall, I see and feel a connectedness between my limbs and my core, between my mind and my body, my heart and my lungs. My body is not the Vespa I wanted, but it's no 1980's trash truck, either.
To this date, I've only lost about 8 pounds. Those pesky 10 pounds are still there. Maybe they will get off me, and maybe they won't. I hope they do, only because my clothing options would improve without them. But when I run these days, I am not thinking of pounds. I think of power. I think of myself pushing the sidewalk behind me, and pulling the wind around me then flicking it off my heels. When I run, I participate in something bigger than me. I am the conductor of a body that knows what to do. My body, the same body that puked at the thought of gym class for 12 years, knows how to run if I just get out of the way. It is our nature. There is a feeling, at that very first step, that is not "starting to" run. It isn't forced, it is enveloping. It is "entering into running." Running exists, and I join in. And it feels good! If anyone had told me 20 years ago that I would exercise and like it, I would've died laughing.
I started running for exercise, I guess. There are those extra 10-15 pounds, the ones my doctor calls "probably muscle" and my mother calls "just nature." Like most unathletic 30-something women, I was looking for a way that my body could shrink without requiring much of me. My choice of exercise was made practically... running is (or can be) free. And running need not be a "sport" unless you want it to. Running seemed safe, noncommittal. The game could never go too fast for me, I couldn't lose and, timed strategically, nobody ever needed to see me sweat. These were my criteria... cheap and anonymous, and easily abandoned.
An amazing thing has happened, though. I have not become thin, but I have become strong. I, who started playing the violin largely in order to conflict with gym class... I, who picked up a boyfriend so that he could cover me in volleyball... I, am strong. There are still the spots that make me cringe (hello to you, too, flabby armpitish/ribcageish nemesis!) But overall, I see and feel a connectedness between my limbs and my core, between my mind and my body, my heart and my lungs. My body is not the Vespa I wanted, but it's no 1980's trash truck, either.
To this date, I've only lost about 8 pounds. Those pesky 10 pounds are still there. Maybe they will get off me, and maybe they won't. I hope they do, only because my clothing options would improve without them. But when I run these days, I am not thinking of pounds. I think of power. I think of myself pushing the sidewalk behind me, and pulling the wind around me then flicking it off my heels. When I run, I participate in something bigger than me. I am the conductor of a body that knows what to do. My body, the same body that puked at the thought of gym class for 12 years, knows how to run if I just get out of the way. It is our nature. There is a feeling, at that very first step, that is not "starting to" run. It isn't forced, it is enveloping. It is "entering into running." Running exists, and I join in. And it feels good! If anyone had told me 20 years ago that I would exercise and like it, I would've died laughing.
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