I come from a family of runners. My dad ran track and cross country in high school and college. All four of my brothers ran. My sister, Carey, ran too. It's in my blood.
I ran one season of cross country in high school. I hated it.
However, now I enjoy it. These days, I like to think I'm a runner. I go to a gym sometimes pretty regularly and I run til I can't run no mo'. I am signed up for my second half marathon for next April. I have done quite a few races in the last few years.
I am competitive by nature and I like running against other people...and dogs.
I am not a pretty runner. My clothes don't match. I wear mismatched socks.
Sometimes I forget my water bottle and I have to fill my empty coffee mug with water so
I am able to fend off exhaustion and that little voice in my head that's taunting me to stop.
I give it everything I have. And I don't care what I look like.
This is the only way I can get through the week sometimes. Sometimes I claim it is my drug of sorts. Meaning, I need it, I want it, I have to have it. I almost crave it sometimes.
Other times, I literally talk my self out of it.
Here's the thing- I don't do it for only me. I do it for my girls too. I want to be a healthy and happy mom who can play with my kids and have energy to keep up with them. I want to live a long life so I can be with them always. As in, I never want to leave their side. As in, I live in their basement when I am old. They'll never be able to get rid of me. Not if I can help it. And if that means, heading to the gym twice a week. Well, so be it.
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