A year ago today, I decided to see if I could learn to tolerate running. Julie and I went to the track, and I nearly died on my first lap. After a couple hundred yards, I was cramped and wheezing and there was the taste of iron coming from my throat. I was able to walk/run a mile, but it was insanely difficult, and my legs hurt like hell for days after. I kept at it, though, and after a couple of weeks, I was able to finish a mile in under 12 minutes.
Since then, I’ve run a 5k and two half-marathons, logged 462 miles (since I started counting in September) of training, coped with a small army of injuries, and lost 25 pounds. I’m signed up to run a 10k at the end of September, and a 10m in November. Most importantly for my health, I’ve made exercise a habit again, after many years of self-neglect.
It’s been a weird year in so many ways. A good one, on balance, but one with major stresses and obstacles. You never know what’s going to save you from self-destruction, is what I’m saying, and during the last year, for me, it’s been this.
(photo by Kim Lisagor)