I went for a run as my workout the other day because I’m training for a 10k. Yep, a whole 6.2 miles. And I am NOT a runner. Perhaps crazy, but not really a great runner. My comfort zone for workouts is in sloppy workout gear, sweating profusely along with my bestie Autumn Calabrese and my main man Shaun T. Alright, fine, they’re the trainers in my workout DVDs. But I feel like they’ve seen me at my worst, so can’t I call them friends at this point?!
Anyway. Running. I was talking with my REAL friend and it makes me laugh that she loves running the most at the exact same point I do – when she’s DONE. I never would’ve thought that a seasoned runner, who does marathons and other crazy stuff like that, would feel the same way. But it was kind of comforting in a strange way.
So on this run that kind of sucked the other day, I decided at the last minute that I wanted to run up a pretty serious hill in my neighborhood. It’s kind of hardcore, and at that point in my run I knew it would be a challenge by the time I got there. Buuuuuut I went for it anyway.
So I make the turn onto the path where this hardcore hill is, and the wind hits me like a load of BRICKS. It was miserable. There was a LOT of grimacing going on. I started to get disheartened. But there was kind of no other option at that point but to suck it up and RUN. So I did. I ran through that stupid wind. I ran up that darn hill. And the whole time I was listening to Raffi on the toddler radio station to placate the little girl sitting in the double jogging stroller I was pushing. Raffi? NOT so motivational on a run. SERIOUSLY.
But HEY! I did it! I survived. I knew I would, even though I felt like giving up about 12 different times. It felt like a major accomplishment.
I bet Raffi himself would have been proud. At least that’s what I’m telling myself, because heaven knows he’ll be joining me on another run sometime soon.