i can't even type those words without a sheepish grin on my face.
i reserve the term "runner" for people like my father in law, who have run for years, 5 days a week, or like Karen who just ran her second half marathon, or Melissa who is getting certified as a personal trainer, or the girl who sold me my runners after analysing my gait (who i was too ashamed to run in front of...) not *me*, the poser with the nice shoes.
As i slipped off my runners this morning after our homeschool gym class at the park, i wondered, "Why not? Why can't i be a runner?"
"Because," i laughed at myself, "You're not. You're not a dancer either, or a poet, or a soccer player. You can't just say you are something & then choose to be it... There are rites of passage to go through, or it's a birthright, a childhood strength, a probation period before you can be called a runner. And you have none of these qualifications... you are a mother and a wife. You're not a runner."
But my heart betrays me... Running is like a fresh new friendship to me - full of first conversations, questions, getting to know you's... It's like when you meet someone for the first time & you really hit it off... you wonder if it'll blossom into a friendship - or not.
i don't need an ipod if i run... my conversations go like this, 'go legs... o, wow, i can feel all my muscles working... go lungs - you gettin' enough air? C'mon heart - let's keep it together - little faster till we're around that bend, then i'll slow it down a touch...'
i've never been too great at fresh new friendships. It's kinda like gardening for me... i get so excited to see the green shoots start to come up - but then i lose interest - get caught up in other things - forget to care for my little growing things... & my yield is weak.
But for now, in this season - as i lace up my runners & learn to call myself by another name,
i am a runner.