Say it about the same pace that your not quite resting heart rate is and that’s the sound of my feet hitting the treadmill once again.
I’m back on the wagon – er, tread mill if you will, and while it doesn’t feel awesome, I don’t hate it. Last summer I had to stop running because of some g-d awful shin splints that left me barely able to walk without hobbling. I took a break, got a new pair of running shoes and while I’m not nearly at the point that I was at over the summer, I’m logging miles in where I can and increasing speed occasionally.
I’m back to that mental shift from “Oh my gosh I really fricken hate this!” to “Ok, I can do it, just go do it and it’ll be fine.” At one point I got to, “This isn’t so bad, I do miss it when I don’t come run.” but we’re not there yet.
I don’t need to be a runner. I swim, I have dance parties and there are several other physical activities that I enjoy doing, but I guess I just don’t like not being good at something and want to get to proficient. Running feels like it will always present a challange for me because let’s face it, I’m not built for it. That doesn’t mean I can’t try though.
That desire to feel proficient or even decent at it? It helps fuel me.