I hate running. I know hate is a strong word, but in this case, I am perfectly fine using it. I've never understood why people like to run. I admire them, but don't quite understand their love of one of the things I hate most. Perhaps that's why it is still a little hard to believe that just a few months ago, I took up the sport of running. Our journey together didn't last long, but my brief experiment with running allowed me to accomplish something I never dreamed I would do.
My desire to run really didn't start as a desire. Just prior to school starting, a friend and I had discussed our desire to get in shape. Running was mentioned, but knowing how much I hated it, I really didn't give much thought to this option as our choice of exercise. Perhaps that's why I was surprised, when on the first day of school, my friend told me she had already run two days that week and was using a running program that allowed you to work up to running a 5k (3.1 miles) in about ten weeks. I was proud of my friend and her commitment, especially considering she was getting up at 5:00 a.m. to run. Wanting to be a good friend and knowing that we could both hold one another accountable, I offered to take up running myself by following the same plan.
Just to make sure I would keep my part of the commitment, I asked my friend to text me that Friday morning when she got up to run. Sure enough, shortly after 5:00 a.m., I received a text message that she was heading out to run. I got ready myself, grabbed my headphones, and walked outside into the dark. My neighborhood was pitch black and so peaceful during the early morning hours. I did my warm up walk and then began running. The program alternated between running and walking, increasing the amount of time spent running each week until you are running for a full thirty minutes.
Thus began my running journey. For the next two and a half months, my friend and I ran three days a week. Most days we ran in the morning, but there were times that we ran in the evening when that worked best for our schedule. We never ran together, but continued to hold one another accountable. Each running day, we would check in with one other in person or via text message. We encouraged one another when we felt like quitting. We celebrated with one another when we reached a milestone. We griped and complained to one another when we absolutely hated running.
I suppose that's the funny thing about it all. As much as I ran, I still hated it. Sure, there was the first time I ran for twenty minutes straight and the sense of accomplishment of doing something I never would have been able to do just a few weeks prior. I'll never forget the first time I actually ran 3.1 miles and the feeling of joy as I met one of my goals. Soon, however, the feeling of accomplishment began to be overshadowed by my dislike of running.
I had a feeling that I wouldn't be able to keep up my running habit. Not only did I not enjoy it, but my body was taking a beating from it. My knees hurt and my foot was going to sleep each time I ran, even after purchasing fancy (and expensive) running shoes. I knew I needed to do something to culminate my running journey and believed running a 5k race was the way to do it.
My friend was reluctant at first. She, like me, still didn't like running and was fine with having completed the program and achieved our goal. I, on the other hand, wanted to actually run a 5k, not because I loved the thought of running, but so I could say I did it. After a lot of talking, we finally signed up for a 5k in Springfield. I told me friend that the only way I would run it is if we crossed the finish line together. At this point, we still had not run together, so two days before the race, we ran together for the first time. I remember the sense of accomplishment as we ran together for the first time, gaining confidence that we could run the official race.
On November 2, we drove to Springfield. It was bitterly cold and windy, not the best conditions for running. We checked in, pinned on our race bibs, and made our way to the back of the line of 5k runners. After a short pep talk, we began our race, each of us with our headphones in. We stayed together for the duration of the race, rounding the corner toward the finish line. We pushed through and crossed the finish line together, gave one another a quick high five, and then made our way inside where it was warmer.
It wasn't until later, as we drove home, that we realized all we had accomplished. Our time wasn't great. We didn't get a medal or a certificate. No one was there to congratulate us as we crossed the finish line. What we did gain, however, was pride and a bond in knowing we had done something together that would have been impossible only a few months earlier. We did get our picture taken together that day after the race, and that picture sits in a frame in my office. It serves as a reminder of what we accomplished together. It also reminds me that hard work and perseverance pays off.
I still hate running. I wish I could say that changed. I wish I could say that I have run again since that day in November. The truth is, I haven't. Even though I still don't like running, I don't think my journey with running was a failure. In fact, I think it was quite the opposite. Running that 5k was one of my proudest moments, mainly because I did it in spite of not liking it and because it was something I never thought I would do. It also gave me a chance to encourage a friend and receive encouragement, too. I wouldn't trade that for anything.
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