A year and a half ago, a friend and I walked a 5k.
I will never be a great runner. I’m happy to get my slow jog on. Well, maybe not always happy. I keep hoping that one day something will click in my head and I’ll love to run. It hasn’t happened yet. I hate running (jogging). But I keep doing it. And I love the way I feel when I’m done. Well, maybe not immediately after I’m done. Perhaps after I’ve recovered a bit.
Anyway, since that first 5k, I’ve done 2 fun one mile walks with the family, a 1 mile run, 7 more 5Ks, a half marathon, and a full marathon. I don’t run the whole way. I’m not fast. But I finish and I’m not last.
I’m also signed up for 2 half marathons and a quarter marathon. I am looking forward to adding at least 6 or 7 – 5ks to that and hopefully a 50 mile bike ride or two.
Somehow, even though the races are challenging enough, I have decided I want to challenge myself more. Today, I signed up for a Warrior Dash. 3.5 miles with obstacles like climbing up a waterfall and jumping over fire. Two of my coworkers swear they’re signing up too. I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.
But today, while talking to one of my coworkers, one who will not even pretend she’d do something like a Warrior Dash, a funny thing happened. She called me athletic. I’ve been called a lot of things: fat, chubby, clumsy, klutz, flounder, but never anything like that.
The little fat girl inside me protests, but is secretly thrilled. What my coworker doesn’t know is that even though I occasionally will stay on my treadmill for 99 minutes (because that’s the maximum time for any program on it) or take a 40 mile bike ride, I’m not athletic. I’m just flipping stubborn. Athletic just sounds so much better.