I was dragged kicking and screaming into becoming a runner. My husband Rob, who is a relentless distance runner, would encourage, nudge, and ever-so-gently suggest that perhaps I would like to start running? I came back (not always as gently) at him with every excuse I could think of:
“No time. How would we possibly fit another running schedule into our life?”
“It’s boring! Give me a team, a ball, a net, a goal of some sort and then I’ll run around.”
“Um, do you KNOW that we have four kids? I already spend all day running in circles!”
At some point I realized that Rob’s obsession with running was not going away. It was not a phase, or a temporary fascination like the time he bought all that lacrosse gear and ran up and down the street yelling things about sticks. For like, a month. And I began to think that it would be fun to have a pastime we both loved, besides watching re-runs of The Office. So I opened up to the idea of running.
As I thought about it more, and started to understand what I had been passing up, I kicked myself. Wait, you mean, I get to be alone? And, hold the phone, I get to put on my ipod and listen to something other than Barney’s Greatest Hits? And all I have to do is say, “Honey, I think I’d like to go for a run today,” and Rob will totally rearrange his schedule to make it happen? Um, yes please.
I can’t say that I love the actual running part. It’s hard. But I have grown to love the feeling that you get when you’ve pushed yourself just a little bit further than you thought you could go. And that feeling in your muscles, that good kind of ache, that is relieved when you finally collapse into bed at night. And that big bowl of ice cream that you get to have because you ran 3 miles that day. Yeah, I like that part.
So I’m out there. Even in the 100 degree summer heat here in Clovis. I have a new hobby. So thanks darling hubby for dragging me. I don’t know that I’ll ever really stop the kicking and screaming, but at least I’ll be kicking, screaming…and running.