What I haven’t written about is the transformation that is occurring.
“I run because it’s so symbolic of life. You have to drive yourself to overcome the obstacles. You might feel that you can’t. But then you find your inner strength, and realize you’re capable of so much more than you thought.” Arthur Blank
Oh, there’s a wee part of me that whispers shh don’t talk about it yet, you’re only in week 3. But there’s a stronger, louder, more powerful part of me that tells her to shut it.
Because here’s what I need to say:
I mustered up my courage and actually went into a running store. You know the kind: everyone in there is a 9′ tall gazelle with 3% body fat and knows what to do with the hydration stuff and anti chafing products sitting at the till.
I ambled in, took a deep breath and let the athletic gal fitting me know that I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. She found me some new runners and let me try them out. And I did. I ran in the store. Me. I know! And here’s the thing: I didn’t care who saw me.
Yes I still have my old tanks and sports bras and I haven’t invested in any new shorts or cute outfits. I run on a treadmill and the only one who sees my wardrobe is the 12-year-old dog who is partially deaf and near-sighted.
Because nothing I’ve ever purchased, tasted or experienced has ever made me feel as alive as this does. Nothing. I love everything about it! I love the sweating (and I’m talking rivers of sweat). I love the endurance and confidence I’m gaining. I’m loving the kick-a** way 30 minutes of this makes me feel. I love that moment that comes in the middle of a workout when my inner lizard harps that I can’t possibly finish; I love to silence her by pushing through anyway. I’m loving how well I sleep at night. I love the “atta-girls” I get from the Hubbs and the pride I feel when I reach another milestone.
At 49, I’m loving that I can.