The Thirteen Minute Mile

Running hurts.

That’s what I always thought, anyway.  I remember skipping out on running during tennis practice in high school.  I remember hating it when I didn’t.  I remember scoring very poorly on the “run a mile” portion of phys ed.

I’ve always hated running.

So I’ve signed up for a half marathon.

It’s just a half, so it’s not like it’s a whole marathon or anything.  Oh, and I’m not fast.  I have no real desire to be fast.  My goal is to run the whole distance.  That’s it.

It’s going to take me a while.  Running a mile in thirteen minutes might actually be somewhat stretching the definition of “running”, but I don’t care.  By the end of May I need to be able to run thirteen of them.  Speed is not my greatest concern.

The odd part is that I am finding that I enjoy it.  Some part of my adult brain has broken in such a way that this is no longer an unpleasant activity.  In fact, I look forward to it.  After I pick up my boys after a long day at work I run a loop around the field at school.  Every time I pass, they cheer.  Even without my adoring fans, running has been a great way to enjoy this freakish March weather.

Running with nothing to run from — I’ve always mocked runners, but here I am.  Wish me luck.

Leave a Comment

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.