About six weeks ago, I did the strangest thing. I went to my gym – the same gym that I have been going to for
years, where I know every member, every machine, every class schedule and every
instructor - and I cancelled my membership. I went downtown to a wonderful
locally owned store and bought a pair of frighteningly expensive and flashy turquoise running
shoes. And then I put in my headphones, pulled on a baseball hat so no one
would recognize me, and I went for a run.
I am not a runner and never have been. I used to run in high school to
stay in shape for the sports that were actually fun, like soccer and field
hockey. And I once pretended I was a
runner to catch the attention of a guy I liked in New York. I would hide behind
a tree in Central Park when I knew he was going on his run, and then as he neared I would
leap out and run past him. Needless to say, we never dated…
But here I was now. Running. Trudging, really. And I didn’t know why, except that it felt
like something I needed to do. My ankles throbbed and my lungs burned. I peed a little bit in my pants. I had been
going to the gym regularly, but this was hard.
I had to stop and walk. A lot. But then,
after a few times, I started walking less and running a little more. And then
a little more.
