I’m not a runner!
Had you asked me a year ago if I liked running, I would have laughed hysterically. I’m talking side-splitting, tears in the eye, can’t catch my breath laughing!
Running was a torturous activity I complained my way through in boot camp many moons ago. I hated it with a burning passion and vowed never, ever to do it unless something was chasing me or I spotted the last case of cranberry Sierra Mist.
Then January of 2020 hit and I made the horrible mistake of stepping on the scale. After I stopped crying in the shower at what that mean machine said, I vowed to lose weight. By no means did I swear off food because food is my love language! But, I did vow to get my lazy buns in gear and get moving.
Fast forward more than a year and I find myself excited when the hubby has new running shoes shipped to me. Regardless of how tired I am, I haul my hind end out of bed before the sun rises and put in five miles. The scale and I are still not on speaking terms, but my clothes thank me daily because they fit better.
And as I retire yet another pair of running shoes, I chuckle a little at what a difference a year can make. So, maybe I am a runner. Who knew?
Another pair bites the dust!