I like to run.

It's true. I like to run.
I'm not particularly good at it,
but I really like it.

Running makes me feel strong. I'm not one of those people who like to do things just to spite others. Some people find a little bit of negative feedback motivating. It pisses them off. It gets their blood going. It really makes them want to stick it to the 'man'. Let me repeat...I am not one of those people. I am potentially the least competitve person on the planet. I lose pretty well. When I win, I'm positive it's because my competitor threw the fight. Negative feedback usually makes me go..."Eh, that's probably about right."

I can now remember specific instances
when people told me that I couldn't run.
Friends. A coach. Perfect strangers. Even gym teachers told me I couldn't run. (One actually openly laughed at me. Why? Because middle school needs to be a little more difficult.)


Too fat. Too short. Too lazy. Not built for it. For a select few, I think they were trying to make me feel better about failing. Trying to somehow prevent me from humiliating myself.


Sometimes it was just implied,
but you might be surprised how many people
feel obligated to, either:
a) tell you you're going to fail
b) actually encourage you to fail.















During a heart to heart conversation
with someone who loved me very much, I confessed in a hushed voice, "I think I want to run. I mean try to run. But I've always dreamed of being one of those people who can just, you know like, run." He stopped. He thought. He spoke, "Babe, I love you, but... You. Will. Never. Be. A Runner. That's ridiculous." I believed him, too. I was scared. It was easier to believe I couldn't, rather than I wouldn't.





Then I tried it. No, I really tried. I'd tried before,
but the goals were too big. I wanted to learn how to run before I learned how to walk...literally. I thought it was something normal people should just know how to do really well.






It took a few months of other less intimidating cardio work.
Exercise bikes. Stability balls. Weights. Elliptical machines. Yoga. Then...it was time to try the treadmill.

The first couple tries were a little rough.
It was awhile before I could run a whole mile without stopping. But, I didn't give up and it got easier. I am constantly surprised at how much more I can do.



Last month, I turned 30 and ran farther than I
have ever run in my life. It was 3.4 miles from my front door to the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. It is also, undeinably, the most well documented 3.4 miles in human running history. (My lovely Sarah, drove a car along my route and took over a hundred pictures.) Today, I ran 4 miles. Tomorrow, who knows?






I've learned how to run fast for a little while.
I've learned how to run slow for a long while.
I've learned that it's most important to run when
you think you can't and the only way to cheat is to quit. Most importantly, I've learned that my friend was wrong; I. AM. A. RUNNER....a slow one, but a RUNNER!