I have a tenuous relationship with running. There was the honeymoon period last year – that’s when we fell in love. It was a whirlwind romance: I bought new trainers at the beginning of the year, and that same day, I pounded the pavement; my heart felt alive, and my body ached in a good way when afterwards I collapsed in a sweaty, happy heap on the couch.
And then running hurt me. “Plantar fasciitis.” I couldn’t run for 6 weeks, and it broke my heart.
I returned, but things were changed. Could I trust running not to hurt me again?
As it turned out, no. Because it did – my shins, and then my hips. But it was my fault too – I pushed too hard, expected too much, too soon. It takes two to tango, right?
Our relationship is very casual now – I run occasionally, and most often on a treadmill at the gym. But I want it to be more than that, mean more to me than that.
So I’m making a commitment to running outside, 3 times a week, starting this week.
I’m not expecting the world, but a half-marathon somewhere along the line would be nice. I’ll keep you updated.