The First Mile (In a While)

I'm a runner.

It took me a long time to move from "I run" to "I'm a runner."

But I haven't really run since a torturous 13.1 miles that ONLY WENT UPHILL (I swear...ask anyone who was there). Also, I was 8 weeks pregnant when I ran it.  So, add that to the torture list.

That 13.1 was it for the remainder of my pregnancy. Sure, I hiked, I walked, I swam. I am an active person, pregnant or otherwise, but running? Nah. We'll skip that.

Fast forward a "whole lot of months" (as my son likes to say), and it was time.

I had run out of excuses. I'm no longer pregnant. My husband can entertain my daughter for a reasonable amount of time.

So.

Favorite running top and shorts on. Laces tied.

Let's go.

Did I mention everyone else in my house was napping? Oh, and it was friggin' hot?

Many reasons to stay home.

But I ignored them all.

I went right from house, which means I went only uphill, ask anyone.

Towards the top of the first curve, I thought, "I really could just curl up and take a little nap right there. Who would notice?" Only, the rest of the neighborhood. But did I care? 

I kept going.

Up. Up. Up. Then down, around, up, and down. And home.

Just one mile.  It's the first one that really counts, and I needed to know I could get started again, that I can run with nursing-mom boobs (because...you know...FULL), that my legs remember what to do.

Turns out, my whole body remembers what to do.

And now, I want to do it again.