Growing up, my father was an avid runner. A couple of times I attempted to join him on his runs… what was he thinking?… soreness, sweat, lack of breath… this sucks!
After having a child, I was my heaviest ever, 172 pounds. Before you scoff, keep in mind that I am under 5 feet tall. I have always been a physically active person but struggled with my weight throughout life. I wanted… I needed to work on becoming healthy as a new mom but the rigorous schedule of a baby is challenging.
I demanded a treadmill. Unbeknownst to me, the treadmill set me up to become a runner. With easy access and no time constraints, I was able to walk whenever I wanted without leaving home or my child.
The first time I attempted to run, I was not able to complete five minutes. This was quite disheartening; yet, something clicked inside my brain as the bell rang and the fight was on between the treadmill and myself.
I set a goal to work up to twenty minutes of consecutive running and this took me almost half a year to reach. After that I set another goal for the challenge became a hunger.
Now, I am a long-distance runner that accumulates 75+ miles weekly. I run outside, as my treadmill collects dust, in the city I love, exploring, eating and meeting people I never would have before.
Why run? I love it!