Running.

I was not born a runner.  Through high school and into college a mile tested my greatest endurance.  Who could or would want to run any further than that?  My participation in other sports only supported the idea that running was punishment. 

My first run with Nate was spur of the moment.  We ran with another friend.  It was awful.  I lagged several steps behind for an undetermined distance.  At one point, Nate even jogged back to me to slap me on the tush.  I vowed never to exercise with others again. Frankly, I resigned to a future of ellipticals.

Somehow, many months later, I agreed to another run with Nate.  I explained my concerns and challenges to him.  His talent seemed so natural.  He ran so effortlessly.  How could he understand that this was so hard for me?  My calves burned like I ran in stilettos and my lungs stretched as well as denim might.  I mentioned he's amazing, right?  He stayed by my side walk or shuffle the whole time. 

So, I agreed to another run and then another.  He'd encourage me to the next hill top or stop sign which I would never reach.  I bought a heart rate monitor to make sure I didn't surpass some threshold where my heart exploded.  Slowly, very slowly, my skill improved.  I ran one mile.  Then, I could run one mile a little faster.  And so it continued until one day we ran seven or eight miles. 

We stopped really running for a long time and didn't start again until I somehow got the idea that I wanted to run a half marathon.  Again, Nate trudged through training with me.  It's a long story for another day.  To my amazement, my body really could run 13.1 miles (the day after the race I felt like I was hit by a car). 

Now, I find myself looking back to running.  How did this happen?  I remember hating running!  It still hurts.  I struggle to build my mileage again, but now I know I can do it with enough time.  The voice of doubt is quieter.