Just Magic

Nine months and 18 days ago, I decided to become a runner.

291 days.

I remember those first few runs. I huffed through a mile, walking more than I ran. I didn't think I could go it. I hated the run. I HATED the run.

At Day 29 I ran my first 5k, a trail run that was NOT for beginners. I fell over a root and bit the dirt halfway through, and finished in 45.02.

But I kept going. I remember seeing this post by Jennie at 54 days. I didn't feel like I was a runner. I decided to run as a means to lose weight. I was losing weight and I hated my running but I kept with it.

I planned on running a half marathon in February, but last month I thought maybe I wasn't up for it. I thought I would be bored running 13.1 miles. I thought I wasn't a runner. I ran to lose weight, not because I enjoyed it.

18 days ago I ran two 5ks in one day, one of them for my personal record. It was an accomplishment. I felt great afterward about the accomplishment. I still felt like I didn't care about running.

18 days ago I started finding other things to do: I had a trip to take with the family, books to read, episodes of Grey's Anatomy and DVR to catch up on. I stopped running.

Tonight there were so many reasons why I shouldn't run. There is a big scary rainstorm off the coast that keeps threatening. My family was late getting home so it was almost dark. My running partner didn't answer my text when I asked if she was coming. Then she didn't get the door when I knocked.

I went anyway. I ran because I wanted to. I ran on my own, at my own pace, with my own music, with my own thoughts and for the length of time I felt was right. And at the end I felt pure magic. I could have run another 2 miles. I could have just kept going, circles through the neighborhood.

3.7 miles later, 291 days later. I run because I want to. I am a runner.