The year I lost my mind.

After mass one winter morning, I found my hand gripping a pen and forming the letters to enter our church’s annual 5k.  As I did so, my mind spoke the words I had so often said in the past. 

“I’m not a runner.” 

“I only run when chased.”

“Better you than me.”

Although I still believed every word, I signed up with a friend who was very much a runner.  I was very much not.

Without much time to prepare, 3.1 miles loomed large and seemed just so … far. 

But I made a deal with myself; I was going to try it out to see what this running thing was all about.  I had run a 5k in the past, was on the track team for a time in high school, but I was still not a runner.  At all.

February 25, 2014.  I put on what ever I could find that was warm – leggings and a fleece left over from my post-babies-but-pre-active-children-I-must-play-tennis-because-I-live-in-Atlanta years on the court, some running shoes I picked up at Nordstrom Rack, a hat, and off I went.  It was 35 degrees.  And raining sideways.  I pulled into the park and resolved to go.  And I went.  It was not pretty.  I walked more than I ran. It hurt.  My lungs hurt.  My legs were on fire.  I was wet and cold.

But that day, I began to see a little of what the “hype” was all about.  Something about moving myself from point A to B under only the power of my own two feet was empowering.  I wanted to see if I could do better the next time.  Two days later, I went out again and went a little farther, a little faster, and walked a little less.  In March, I took that 5k by storm.  It was a very, very slow personal best (all first races are PRs!), and I was just proud that I got across the finish line.  Every muscle in my body hurt.

Ironically enough, I found out later that I placed in my age group.  The beauty of a small race!

I overcame something in that short amount of time… something changed in me.  I found myself signing up for another race in April… then another… then another…. And then I did something I was sure I would live to regret… I signed up for a half marathon.  I progressed through the training for that race and became quickly sidetracked by shiny road bikes and the idea of triathlon.  I bought my road bike in June, ran my first 13.1 mile race on July 4^th and hopped on my bike for the first time on July 6^th.  Love at first sight.  Er.  Spin.

And the rest, as they say, is history.