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!