Everyone has their story- I have been holding back writing this post…
there is so much of me that hasn’t (doesn’t) feel worthy… yet
However. No matter how big or small my “accomplishments” are…
I am a runner.
You could say my story begins when I was born, when I deemed soccer a waste of sweat.
When I loathed fridays (mile days in gym class)
The summers I spent running ONE mile trying to make it under 8 minutes.
I loathed running because it always told me what I wasn’t.
athletic enough. skinny enough. fast enough. good enough.
I ran track in middle school because my sister and 2 best friends were- but man on man I cried.
Volleyball was my sport. I loved it- I even became somewhat decent enough to play club.
Volleyball was worth running for.
I ran track for 2 years… let’s go with I wasn’t the greatest…
I worked hard… but I never pushed my limits- I gave into that whiny voice in my head saying “I can’t… or I don’t want to… or I’m out of breath… this hurts… slow down…”
I lusted after runners… I so badly wished I had the drive, and talent to run for miles on end…
I wanted to have a title. Something that people looked at me and wanted…
I ran track for two years in high school- to be honest I wish I could go back.
I wish I could listen to my coaches and trust I wasn’t indeed going to die from running a 400… or 2 miles.
If I could have known back then that I would be the person I am now… who runs by choice… I would have perished at the very thought.
My senior year of high school I blew out my knee.
I was devastated. I would miss out on my senior year of playing club… blow any chances of playing volleyball even for a lesser college… etc etc etc.
Even worse… me, who hated running… hated training for anything other than volleyball was about to sit on her butt for months “not allowed” to run.
*Being medically not allowed to run used to be something I longed for… and I was oddly happy with that… until the months wore on …
and I realized I didn’t want to never be able to run again.
I started at ground zero.