Running.

It was cloudy. The pavement looked rough and unwelcoming. My fingertips were stinging, despite my gloves. I fiddled with my headphones and watched as the mass of people around me stretched, tied their shoes, and amicably chatted with their running partners. I could feel the energy around us. It was swelling into a huge mass of excitement and adrenaline.

I was new to all this. The only running I had experienced was for physical education class in high school. And in that time I didn’t have a choice, I had to do it. But now, 10+ odd years later, I was willingly choosing to run. In the middle of January. With two people I was pretty sure I wasn’t comfortable with them seeing me in a sweaty mess.

Why had I decided to do this again? Oh, yeah. I was fat. Unhealthy. Pathetic with my apathy. Unhappy with my outward appearance. I glanced at the tall drink of water next to me. Him. He also encouraged me to do this. He dared me to try something entirely new to me. I had always been intrigued with running and the perks of labouring miles on one’s feet and the ground. So when the New Year started I decided to find a run I could commit to. I found this 5 mile hike in Brown County. What I hadn’t expected was to experience how difficult it actually was. There’s a colossal difference between running on the treadmill at the gym and running on pavement, uphill, with hundreds of people passing you.

I also hadn’t expected to be swarmed with support and comfort in knowing I wasn’t the only one miserable. In my head 5 miles didn’t seem like much, especially if one were hiking. But not, we were legit running on the road uphill. Big difference. My left hip was aching with a new pain I hadn’t felt, my toes were getting rubbed raw from my holed socks, and my flushed cheeks were blown out to help get more hair to my lungs. I had never been in that much pain.

Before I knew it, we were done. The nice gentlemen told me my time: 78 minutes and 12 seconds.

That’s it. I was done.
Wait…that’s it?
For an odd reason I wanted to keep running. I wanted to be in more pain. I wanted to push myself up those hills and feel my flabby quads protest. I didn’t want to stop. I had proved to myself – unconsciously that I could finish something. I could finish a run. Albeit, a slow, shitty, 1/2 fast walk 1/2 fast jog, but I finished it.
My apathetic self had finished a willingly committed physical activity.

The realization sank in as a few snow flakes floated down from the murky clouds.

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