I do not consider myself a runner.
That is not one of my labels.
Sometimes I run.
First, let’s clearly define ‘run’.
“move at a speed faster than a walk, never having both or all the feet on the ground at the same time”
Now, there are tons of people who WALK faster than I RUN.
Cause of my awesome heart.
But through MONTHS of work, my personal trainer, Ifat, got me running.
Let’s look at the facts.
It was COLD.
The twins were THREE MONTHS and SEVENTEEN DAYS old.
I hadn’t trained. Or run. At all. Since the Red Hat Summit 5k 2016.
It STARTED well past my bedtime.
I signed up for the 5k.
I was an idiot.
I gave myself permission to walk as much as I liked. And I totally did. For a majority of the race. And anytime anyone gave me guff or encouraged me to run, I reminded myself that I just gave birth to twins. And smiled politely.
I was utterly miserable.
But I finished.
And I was utterly proud.
And then I signed up for the LadiesRun Groningen. This time would be different! This time I would train! This time I’d get up every morning and run at least a mile!
This time it’d be in JUNE during the DAY!
And that’s mostly what happened.
Except that it’s been a rough couple of weeks. Especially since about a week ago. And by the time I got to the race START, I wanted nothing more than to go right back home, crawl into bed, and sleep.
So I played pokemon.
See, whenever depression or triggers or anxiety or ideation is rearing its ugly head and I HAVE TO MOVE FORWARD, I play video games.
It’s a distraction / escapism / shoosh for my brain and I NEEDED IT.
I literally stood at the start line playing on my phone.
No warm up. Shitty attitude. And the gunshot went off.
I assumed I’d be the last runner. That I’d shuffle into a walk throughout the course. That I might even just run to my car and LEAVE.
But I didn’t.
I ran the whole fucking way.
I wasn’t last.