I used to be a runner. Well, if I am going to be honest that is an understatement. I became obsessed with running when I was 35. I blame the Biggest Loser show actually. I used to run 60-80 miles a week. If I could run 10 miles a day I was a happy girl.
I have always had friends that were runners and I envied them. I wanted to run but wouldn’t start. I had a terrible experience in middle school when I tried to join the track team which honestly kept me from it later in life.
I researched and started. I gave myself a challenge. I would run every day in January that year and at the end of the month if I hated it I would stop. I didn’t stop for 6 years. I ran everything from 5k races to 50 miles. (Yes, you read that correctly.)
My first race was a half marathon. I ran a marathon after 11 months of running. This is not the normal way to do things. But I loved it.
I ran at that time of my life too because there was anxiety and depression. I was running away from my life at the time. My brain has connected this anxiety to the running.
I have had several false starts over the last couple of years. I ran last summer and worked up to a 13 mile run just to see if I could do it again. That is how I ended up running 50 miles – a personal challenge to just see if I could do it.
With the virus gifting me the time to read, write, study and realign my life running has come back. I had to deal with some emotional ties to the running because of my past that I DO NOT want to relive.
Today is day 5 of running in a row. I am back again to looking forward to the runs. I have a path outside my door once again since I moved and that makes a huge difference. The air is clean here and there are hills which I love.
It is nice to nurture a new relationship with this part of myself.
I am a runner again.