Adventures of a Wandering Thirtysomething

A few months ago I saw an article in one of those women’s fitness magazines that said I could learn to run 3 miles in 8 weeks. Let me preface this by saying that, for a skinny person, I have got to be one of the worst runners ever. Contestants from The Biggest Loser could smoke me. And I’ve basically always hated running – never been any good at it, so why embarrass myself? But now that I’m in my mid-20s and deciding that a) I don’t care so much what people think, b) I’m not getting any younger for this stuff, and c) my bow-legged self could stand to have some calves, I have taken up the challenge. Now, for all you marathoners out there, I’m aware that 3 miles is a walk in the park for you people, but for those of us who (literally) suck wind when running, a 3-miler is a big freakin’ deal. So, off of the elliptical machines and on to the treadmills I went at 24-hour Fitness. Mile 1 was easy, mile 2 came along soon after, but that mile 3 is an elusive one. For the last month, yes month (by the way the 8 weeks thing was a crock – no one can go from couch to killer calves in 8 weeks), I hit the 2.5 mile mark and then my lungs decide that, quite frankly, they’ve had enough and wouldn’t I prefer to just go home and watch The Bachelor anyway? I am now threatening myself that I will sign up for a 5k race. Maybe that will teach me to stop being such a pansy and run the stinkin’ 3 miles. But if there’s something I’ve learned, it’s to keep pushing for that last half mile even if I fail every time. And that, even at 2.5 miles, I run a lot further than most of the tools at my gym.