And I am proud of it.
How did I start running? Not by desire. When I was a teenager, I called running S.I.T.: self-inflicted torture. I couldn't understand why somebody would deliberately put their body through such a punishing activity.
During college I tried taking it up, but pushed myself too hard, too fast and ended up with punishing cramps every time I ran. Concluding it was not for me, I stopped.
Then health reasons and my own pitiful lack of shape since college and living in the city motivated me to begin again last year. I wanted a form of exercise that involved minimal time, equipment, and cost. Jogging fit the bill. At first I could only do 15 minutes. Then twenty. Twenty-five. Thirty. Much later, forty-five. Then an hour and more. Now I plan my week around when I can run.
I love to run. I love the feeling of powerfulness and tirelessness my body gets when it is running. I love the swift way my feet skim the air and the suspended, exhilarating freedom of a sprint. I love being alone outside with my own thoughts and the air and the birds and the sunshine. I love to explore new paths on foot. I even love it when it rains.
I love the lean, sculpted look my body has taken on, and the hard feel of my muscles. I love feeling quick and alive and strong and good. Once you couldn't have paid me to run. Now, you can't stop me.