Runnin'

I used to hate running. I played sports growing up and that meant running. Miss a free throw? Run a lap. Have an attitude? Run a lap. Show up late to practice? You get the idea. To me, running = punishment. Sometime in college, that changed. I had a couple of friends who jogged and I started joining them. The summer after I graduated from college, I ran regularly, until my daily run was up to three miles.

A year or so later, I started dating someone who was really into running. His regular run was more like 7-8 miles, and it inspired me to up my game. I worked at a publishing company at the time and there were a lot of joggers in the office. and Five of us decided to run a marathon relay together. I don't remember what the distance breakdowns were, exactly, but I ran the final and longest relay, which was 8 miles. It was the longest distance I'd run to that point.

A couple of years later, I decided to run a marathon. For no good reason. I joined a running group and had fun with my fellow masochists, I got into really good shape, and I also managed to mess up my knee and ankle. But I finished in my time range and that was good enough for me. (4 hours, 24 minutes or something like that. I was hoping to finish under 4:30.)

My knee and ankle have given me problems ever since, sadly. But I've more or less tried to keep running, even though there are long periods of not doing anything in between. Recently, a friend and I decided to try to split a marathon and each run half of the White Rock race in December. Again, for no good reason.

Will my crotchety old knees make it? I hope so. Because a half-marathon is my favorite distance to run. Today Katy and I plan on running together for the first time. Wish us luck.