I started running a year ago - January 2102, I got a wild hair and decided that I was going to be a runner. Laughable, really, if you knew me. Hate the gym, I'm lazy, fickle, and decidedly un-tough. Not exactly the type of person who gets up off the couch and laces up some fancy shoes and goes running.
But I did. One slow step after another - and one year and a few hundred miles later, here I am. A runner.
Running saved my life. Not because I was obese or ill or hooked on drugs or anything like that. Sure, I could stand to lose a few pounds (and have, thanks to running), and it's possible that my relationship with peanut butter cups isn't EXACTLY rational, but the truth is, I started running not so much to rescue my body, but to rescue my mind.
Never having been much of a social butterfly, when I quit my job in 2007 to stay home with my son, I essentially lost all contact with the outside world. After my daughter was born in 2009, things got even harder. I tried my best to keep up a happy face, but the truth is, I was struggling. Martha Stewart, I am not, so staying at home all day left me restless and unfulfilled. As much as I love my children, as the years of being at home started to pile up, more and more I was rebelling - but only in my head, and truth be told, it was getting rather loud in there.
I enrolled in a local community college, thinking maybe my I needed to stimulate my brain. It didn't help. The one thing that has helped calm the waves of insanity - not dispel them entirely, but at least calm them - is running. Being able to put on my shoes and go, no iPod, no tiny hands grabbing at me, no husband asking if I'd washed his favorite shirt - just the sound of my feet, my breath, my thoughts. Mine.
Running saved my life.
I'm 34 years old. I have two kids, a husband, and a dog. I am a runner. Welcome to my insanity.