I want to like running. I really, really do. It’s a good work out. But the truth is, I have hated it most of my life.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m in to fitness and being healthy; but running isn’t part of my regular workout regimen.
I’m the person who ran the fun run, a stupid name given to an annual one-mile race for elementary students, in fourth grade and hated it.
In high school I would run for sports; volleyball, softball and swimming, but I always looked at as a chore.
My sophomore year of college I would run a mile on a treadmill before a work out, but I would feel like death afterward. I preferred the elliptical or work out classes such as cardio kickboxing to running.
While dating an ex-boyfriend who was a runner, I tried to pick it up. I would jog a mile outside my house in the country and walk in to my house with burning calf muscles.
I would talk a good game and say I was running. That ended shortly when we went for a quick run (his “quick” run was 4 miles) and he was barely breaking a sweat and I was trying to hide my loud breathing. That was the last time we ran together (per my choice, he was embarrassingly kind about it).
While I was interning in Pennsylvania this summer, I stayed in an extended stay hotel. The hotel had a gym, which consisted of a treadmill, Stair Stepper and a weight machine.
I took up running on the treadmill until one day I was running and the moving belt slid out-of-place causing me to stumble off and roll my ankle. Three weeks later I was told it was fixed. After running for 15 minutes it slid again. The machine had an out-of-order sign on it the rest of the summer.
As you can see, running and I have pretty much had a hate/hate relationship. Knowing all this, I signed up for a color run this fall; which sounds like the happiest run on earth. I plan to train and give running another chance. I mean, I do own the Nike Free shoes. Hopefully the relationship will be intimate, sexy and not as one-sided as it’s been for 11 years.