Once upon a time there was a girl who graduated from college and didn’t know what to do with her body. She knew she didn’t like how it looked and she knew she didn’t feel comfortable in it. She didn’t feel capable in it.
So one night many (okay, not very many) Novembers ago, she swore up and down to her friend over a beer that the next time she was asked to run a 5K (which she really, really couldn’t do), she would train for it and do it.
When the call came a few months later, she put on her ratty old pair of tennis shoes + a mangled workout top that was a holdover from high school. She got on a treadmill for the first time in her natural life and started going.
She never looked back.
In the past few years I have put thousands (yes, seriously, thousands) of miles on this body of mine.
And while those first thousand miles were focused on getting skinny and satisfying my many cravings, the last thousand miles have freed me.
I can’t count the number of pairs of shoes I have destroyed.
The idea of spending money on shoes you can’t run in seems ridiculous to me.
I have given up my Friday nights and my Saturday mornings.
My running tights are my skinny jeans.
I mastered the 11 AM recovery-nap.
I write splits on my arms.
I am through the looking glass.