I’m not a runner. I’ve tried and tried but every time I try I find myself wondering, about 5 minutes into a run, WTH am I doing? I play tennis and I’m decent. That requires a certain amount of running or really fast sprinting depending on if I’m playing someone at my skill level. I love that and I could do that for hours. But to go outside and run and run the monotonous thudding, never ending, I cannot figure out who started this activity and what sort of dreary, grey-scale life they lived that this is how they thought to pass the time.
Which brings me to the point of this post, I’m trying to run again. LOL. Can you tell I’m bitter about it? I spent my first mile chanting in my head “I hate this, I hate this.” I may be setting myself up for failure. I’m trying to run again because I decided earlier this year I would take off the baby weight. Since my youngest is going to be 11 I’m not sure it’s appropriate to call it baby weight anymore.
Anyway, my goal was to hit the target weight by my birthday which is fast approaching. And no, you will not ever know when that date is or how old I am. Hasn’t anyone ever told you, you don’t ask a lady such things? I’m old. Let’s leave it at that. And yes I know this is the era of empowerment and my thought on age are antiquated and dinosaur-ish. Blah, blah, blah.
The problem is I keep hitting plateaus in this journey and I’ve hit another. I still have a good 10lbs to go. I know runners tend to be infuriatingly lean and long, a look I’m shooting for, so I’ve decided as much as I hate this it may be worth investigating again. The first mile I almost had a heart attack. I shouldn’t have started on an uphill run for the first time I’ve done this in years, maybe decades. I’m an overachiever.
I’m a week into runs and it’s gotten better. I still don’t like it. And there may be nothing that can trim the inches from my bottom. But I’ve run out of options so I guess I’ll get out there &run.