What a (half) year!

My friend and follower (that sounds very cultish), Miss Erin, posted a cute entry on her blog this month, which I am blatantly stealing to end the year. The idea is to take the first sentence, of the first blog post, of each month, and make that today's post. Of course, I haven't even been at this a year, but here goes. (Note: some months the literal first sentence is just to note the correct date of the run. I skipped that sentence for this post.)

May: Well, I actually just finished Day 3 and have decided I am definitely going to blog this experience, which I had considered, but didn't think I would really do (and I may not continue)...Now, I'm going to backtrack and record some thoughts leading up to today.

June: I didn't get to walk out the 10K route today.

July: It took some psyching up to get out there today.

August: First, let me set the scene.

September: Yesterday the weather forecast for today was pretty dire.

October: Today my goal was to go for 24 minutes.

November: No matter how much you love running on vacation, and no matter how desperately you wanted to run down the neutral ground in the Garden District in New Orleans, and no matter how hard you worked to squeeze your running shoes in your suitcase, you will never, never, never, ever, ever feel like going for a run while you are in New Orleans.

December: Day 8 (Monday): Rest Day. Ack.

Well, I have gone from not being able to run 2 minutes on Day 1 to being able to run 61 minutes 205 days later...to being too scared to run 36 days after that.

This definitely gave me something to do when I was unemployed...and a reason to shower and do laundry during that time. I was going to say, a reason to avoid being a total alcoholic, but as I understand it, some running clubs are founded around alcohol, so I guess it was just sheer good healthy living that prevented the alcoholism.

I saw the sun more than I have in decades (cumulatively), I ran in rain, dark, at dawn, heat, cold, wind, butterfly plagues, worms, slug trails, survived dog "bites," dog chases, and a lot of dog barking, as well as hillbillies. (Survival of the hillbillies is always a struggle, but it's harder when you leave the house every day.) I never did see a snake. Yet.

I've learned a bit of patience, a mantra of just putting one foot in front of the other no matter what is going on, that I can workout hard and not eat dead animals, and that I have less and less desire to be involved in races or around other runners. It happens with all my hobbies - I don't strive at *clears throat* the ripe age of 21 to run a 4 minute mile or a two hour marathon. I'm not interested in ultramarathons or eating mashed potatoes out of a bag I store in my bra to survive a run. I'm not interested in "drinking" a gel pack, so full of chemicals I assume it makes your puke glow at the finish line. I am not interested in puking at a finish line, or puking in general. (Although my brother puking at the finish line is still hysterical.) While I'm quite thrilled with my 40 minute 5Ks, I do want them to be faster, to avoid the embarrassment of defeat by walkers if I ever do a race. My point is, I don't care to be the best runner, I'm just enjoying the healthiness it's adding to my life.

Unless it's attempting to kill me, which I hope to resolve sooner than later, because on a 70 degree New Year's Eve, with the sun shining, I really would rather be out for a run.