I’ve said it for years. Sometimes I wouldn’t mind being a runner, occasionally it even looks like fun. But it involves one thing I really don’t like: running.
I love to walk – I could walk for miles. My regular walking route when the weather is nice is 2-3 miles, and sometimes I’ll push it to twice that without even really thinking about it. I love to ride my bike – not RAGBRAI-style riding, but taking a leisurely 5-, 10-mile ride. I like using the elliptical, stretching, Zumba – it’s not that I don’t like exercise.
I just don’t like running.
Lately, though, I’ve found myself on my walk and fighting the occasional urge to just … run. I quickly talk myself down from the ledge – I’ve never been a runner, not even when I played softball or basketball, and that was 25-30 years ago. I’ve got bad knees. I’m a former smoker. Walking is just fine.
But tonight …
Tonight I ran.
Don’t get excited, all you marathon runners out there. I ran – but it was only maybe an eighth of a mile. I was out walking with Mia and she had a bounce in her step because we’d just been wrestling in the apartment a few minutes before. Her pace picked up, then picked up some more, and suddenly I just ran.
It wasn’t far, and it wasn’t fast. But it was a run. I was a bit out of breath, but not horribly. Honestly, I probably could have gone a little farther. I imagine this is how the “Couch to 5K” program works. I felt good.
And I now know that in the event of a zombie apocalypse, I may not be the last person caught – but I also won’t be the first.