Flint and I have been running. We're following the Couch to 5k program, which uses interval training to build up from 0k to 5k in about 2 months. So far we're sticking with it. We chat through the warm-up, wheeze "almost done!" encouragements through the rest. Some days are particularly challenging, like when I'm not feeling well or we're running on grass instead of concrete. Grass and hills make me whine "This is hard-uh!" like a four-year-old. Like my four-year-old, if we're getting specific.
I exercise every day, with little exception. I can handle some serious cardio training (Thank you, Jillian Michaels!) all in the comfort of my home, on my plush carpet. No hills, no ruts, no moving forward. Am I so out of shape that it kills me to run 90 seconds on grass? Have I so lost touch with my youth that all I know how to do are specified routines?
Actually, that last paragraph hits me with the much bigger question: How did I get to be a person who runs? Exercise is one thing, because you can consider Dance Dance Revolution exercise. I also love kickboxing. These things are fun. Running is the opposite of fun. When Kickboxing learns Running is coming to dinner, it seats Running next to Uncle Shuffleboard. And now here I am, a runner. I think I can call myself that because, while I may not be able to run even a continuous 10 minutes yet, I'm going at this pavement pounding in earnest. I have to make myself slow down. I have read articles on form. I take tips on shoes and stretching. I fuel and hydrate. And I don't hate it. In fact, I so much don't hate it that if I don't get to run, I feel anxious. I regret it every time. I know that I'm steadily improving, and I don't want any setbacks.
Don't worry, though; I will still be very much in the non-professional category of runner for any foreseeable future. The reason I know I can only get better is because I began at so low a level that typing the word "running" left me winded.
