I Would Walk 500 Miles…

but don’t ask me to run.  Any.

Earlier this year, I pinky promised one of my brothers, a veteran runner with a couple of full and half marathons under his belt, that I would run the Disney Wine and Dine Half Marathon in November. Each of our spouses agreed to run with us and we got our youngest brother to jump on the band wagon as well.  Before we knew it, we had a Disney trip planned for all 17 family members – 4 siblings, plus spouses, our combined 7 children, and our parents.

Fast forward to a couple of weeks ago when race registration opened. As per usual, I had been appointed the key contact and was promptly online at the time of reckoning.  Due to the overwhelming popularity and a few hiccups in our pre-arranged call tree, the race sold out in less than two hours.  Only my husband and youngest brother we able to register to run.

Was I bummed that we wouldn’t be able to run together? Sure.

More so, I was feeling a wave of relief. I mean my Disney trip is already booked and without 13.1 miles hanging over my head I’m REALLY looking forward to it.

I’ve been an athlete all my life.  I’ve completed a Tough Mudder, ran a 10K and the equivalent of one as part of a marathon relay team, and countless 5Ks; however, let’s be real….I HATE running!

There I said it.

Once Spring rolls around I get the same really lame idea to sign up for a few races over the summer. I tell myself that I need a “challenge”.  Maybe I convince a friend or two to sign up because it will be “super fun”.  I ask my supportive husband and he tells me:  “Yea, you can do that.  You SHOULD do that!”  Sweet.  Let me mosey on down to the athletic store and get me some new kicks.  Perhaps I need something florescent.  A hat in case it rains – yes, definitely yes.  I am good to go with my runner costume.  And then, as the weeks quickly pass me by and the race nears, I frantically flip through my calendar only to realize that I’ve only logged 6 miles a week for the last two weeks and the remaining training hours I thought I had, had vaporized.  Come race day I feel unprepared and end up looking for an inconspicuous way to implement an escape route off the course and straight to the parking lot where my air conditioned car and “refueling” snacks await.  Alas, I finish the race and to my dismay, I find the organizers experienced a major miscalculation error and ran out of runner’s high by the time I cross the finish line.  Well, damn, ok then.  All the burden and buildup of the race and I’m left with a letdown of an experience.

Finally had an a-ha moment when I missed the half marathon boat: WHY DO I KEEP SIGNING UP FOR THIS CRAP?!?!?

I know there are many ways to stay fit and healthy (e.g. I started a taking ballet class and it has done wonders for me – a post for another day), but I had convinced myself that since I was a college athlete I should run all the races. Compete with myself.  Improve my times.  Push myself to take on more distance.  Blah, blah, blah.  I know so many people, moms in particular, who find running to be both rewarding and a great social activity.  I wanted that.  I wanted to love this free and convenient way to stay in shape.  Instead, I found that running was zero percent enjoyable.  Square peg.  Round hole.  Running doesn’t work for me and I have finally given myself permission to skip over this chapter of the suburban wife – mother handbook.

Now, kick a soccer ball in a field and I will beat you to it every time, but for the immediate future, my running shoes will solely be used to walk my dog.

Aw, Riley, she's just my speed.
Aw, Riley, she’s just my speed.

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