Run for your life!

Until a few years ago, I never considered myself as anyone who could run.  Running was for skinny people.  Fit people.  Not chubby girls who used to place themselves strategically on the playground to avoid having to play sports with the other kids.  (True story. And speaking of the playground, I first developed body image issues there.  Stupid seesaw.)

Nevertheless, I'm back into my training.  I'm doing about 2 miles now, and proud of it.  It's hard for a chubby girl to run.  You could strap a couple big ol' bags of flour on your back and try it if you don't believe me.

I digress.  I wanted to tell you the story of the very first mile I ever ran.

I'd been sort of training for a race.  Not following a plan, just kind of running when I felt like it, interspersed with walking (and, let's be honest, it was really just mostly walking).  It was less than successful.  But race day came nonetheless . . .

It was the Cowtown, and we were doing the 10k.  Starting shots fired.  And then this happened:

From the actual 2010 Cowtown Race. Running News Online. 

But it felt to me more like this: 

Image from the Pamplona, Spain.  The Telegraph. 

My choices were: (1) to run, or (2) be trampled.  

I ran.  There was adrenaline, there were 36,000 feet running with me, and I ran.  I ran until I realized I'd just passed the first mile marker, and then I thought I was going to die.  (Didn't.)  

We've got another race in just a couple weeks, and I think this time I'll actually be able to finish the whole thing running--or at least shuffling.  Plus there will be hot air balloons.  Wheeeee!