Not many people know this about me: When I was little (about 10 or 11), there was nothing I wanted more than to run on the school’s track team. I practiced, I “trained” (as much as a 10-or-11-year old can “train”), and tried out for it.
And I failed miserably. I didn’t fail miserably because I didn’t try hard enough; I tried my darnedest. But the sad fact was, back then I was sorta…runty. One of those skinny kids who could suck down a double scoop chocolate ice cream cone and not have to worry about gaining an ounce (I’m still somewhat like that, to this day). And so, I was just too skinny, too little, to make the team. I couldn’t find my stride, so to speak.
And oh, did I want to. So. Much.
That was the beginning and end of my athletic career, as well as the beginning and end of my competitiveness. I think I figured that there wasn’t much chance that a runty skinny kid like me could do very well against kids who were able to pack on the muscle, so why bother? I was a huge bookworm anyway, so that’s where I concentrated my efforts.
On Monday, I began running.
Not competitively; just jogging. Wait – let me back up a bit. I say “not competitively”, but to be honest, I’ve already set goals in my head to beat a friend’s time at the mile. I’ve been running two days (counting today). He’s been running – I don’t know. Eighty-gazillion years? Alright, at least 5 or 6 years. And yet, for some reason, I feel the need to set up competitions in my head, to Beat the crap out of people who don’t even live in my state.
I guess that little 10-or-11-year-old kid is finally finding her stride.
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