Today was the first day that I have attempted to run in a very, very, very long time.
I’m not in the hospital, sooo… it must have gone okay. 🚑 ♿️ 😂
When I was younger, I loved running. I mean, loved.
It didn’t matter whether I was indoors or out of doors; I would run down the street, through the house, down the hallways at school (much to the teachers’ dismay), and pretty much anywhere else that had enough room for me to run like I’d stolen something.
I suppose I always preferred running to walking because I liked the speed of it. You can get from Point A to Point B in decent time if you walk, but you’ll get there a whooole lot faster if you sprint instead.
But aside from this, I liked the way that running made me feel. First, there was the sensation of the wind whipping through my hair and brushing along my face. Then, there was the drive to run faster and harder than ever before. I also craved the adrenaline rush; it just made me feel so alert and alive. I couldn’t seem to get enough.
Another reason that I might have liked running is that I grew up watching my father run. As a kid, I used to sit and admire all of these medals my dad had won for running track. He was quite good in his day, and unbeknownst to him, my initial interest in running as a sport (opposed to being a good method for bumping into everything in the house and being scolded by my mother), came from his own running career.
Though I never considered what it might be like to join track and win record-breaking medals and trophies with my own name engraved on them, it seemed highly likely that I’d inherited the same speed and power that my dad possessed.
When it came to sports, my strongest display of athleticism was running. I couldn’t dribble or shoot a basketball to save my life, and I was scared to death of baseballs/softballs being thrown in my direction, but if you asked me to run, you had another thing coming.
And then I had my first significant injury.
After years of enjoying a wide range of sports, my days as a mini athlete were ended by a three-person collision and a less than graceful fall on the soccer field. I had severely sprained my ankle. Despite being immediately treated and staying off of it for several weeks, it never healed correctly.
Many activities that I had long enjoyed now caused me terrible pain, which was of great concern to my mom. Even though I tried my best to be careful, I continually re-sprained the same ankle over and over again, making it weaker each and every time. Outside of cheerleading, my mother never allowed me to play sports again, for fear that my next injury would be far more serious.
So began my years living in a “plastic bubble”.
Eventually, I traded my athletic hobbies for more sedentary ones. Music, art, and writing became my predominant passions, not only because I loved them and was said to be good at them, but because they were safe. I’ve never heard of anyone breaking any bones whilst wielding a paintbrush, but I suppose anything is possible. 🤣
For years, I mostly avoided running and jogging. There were times here or there that I might go for a jog at the park after work, or have a sprinting contest with the children I worked with, but considering how plain old walking often hurt, I tried to be as careful as humanly possible.
Of course, I really missed running. I often secretly wished that I could be one of those girls with the floppy ponytails and cute running outfits that I’d see running downtown on Saturday mornings (while I walked at a normal pace like a total lame-o 😂), but I didn’t know if it’d ever be possible.
At one point, a few years ago, I had started working out a lot. I spent about two hours a day, five days a week in my home gym, trying to get myself into the best shape of my life. And for awhile, I was slaying my workouts (don’t even bother asking me what happened to that girl…).
Even though my ankle frequently gave me problems, I had worked my way up to the point where I could run quite well, all things considered. I was definitely no Usain Bolt, but I was getting a little bit better each day. I was so happy.
And then my 30th birthday came along. Worst. Birthday. Ever.
I’ve actually meant to tell this story on my personal blog because it’s extremely funny when I think back on it now, but at the time, it was the most devastating situation.
Long story short, I accidentally injured myself on the way to my birthday dinner. I mean, I was literally steps away from the restaurant. Even though I was clearly hurt, I was turning 30 dang it. I looked amazing (for once), and I had taken two hours primping in order to make certain that I did. People were going to see me! LOL. Going back to the hotel to lay up in bed was NOT an option, so I kept on walking as though nothing had happened.
Lo and behold, I take a few more steps and injure myself yet again! So much for being a maverick. 🙄
Anyhow, I spent the remainder of my birthday vacay in a flippin’ wheelchair (gotta love that priority boarding and escort service at the airport though lol). The rest of the summer was spent hobbling about on crutches. The worst part is that the crutches did me no good because I’d messed up both of my ankles that time. 🤦🏽♀️
All the same, I tried my very best to be as elegant as possible.
When in reality, I was downright miserable, acting like:
Needless to say, I was livid. Ten and a half months of training went straight down the toilet, all because of a pothole. I haven’t been able to jump, run, jog, or skip since then… until today.
Today’s Workout: 54 minutes. Cardio – Walk/Run (Treadmill: 2% to 5% incline). 335 calories burned.
Today was the day that I decided that I don’t care what injuries I’ve had in the past. Heck, I don’t know that I care about the potential injuries I may face in the future. All I know, is that I want to be a runner, so I shall run.
I’m sure it will take me a very, very long time to get myself together enough to run for long periods of time as I would like to, but seeing as this weight loss journey is going to take a year or two anyway, I’ve got nothing but time.
I just have to take baby steps.
Usually, it takes me a solid hour to slowly walk 2 miles on the treadmill. Today I played around with the incline a little bit (I couldn’t figure out which setting would be the most comfortable to run on). I also spent short bursts of time jogging and running (3 and 4 mph, respectively). Doing this cut six minutes off of my normal 2 mile goal.
Now, I realize that this isn’t very impressive at all, but that’s the lowest time I’ve seen for two miles in the last two years. I am extremely proud of my efforts today because those were six minutes in which I wasn’t afraid of what may happen.
Re-injury is something I’ve truly feared over the past 60+ days because it is a reality that has ruined past weight loss attempts. I’ve not been pushing myself as hard as I would have liked to due to this fear– the fear of being unable to finish what I’ve started.
But today, I ran again.
Today was a good day, indeed.
Today was Day 60.
Run Forrest, Run! 🏃♂️
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