Hoka Polka

Back in July of 2011 I reviewed a book for TTPT  Born to Run in which I begin the post saying

I'm not a runner. Never have been. I do run though. On a treadmill or on fairly flat terrain. After 3 miles I'm toast. So how can I say I'm not a runner? Well, I don't run races and my 'running' is pretty slow and steady ... and as I mentioned - lacking hills.

Well.

Time to eat crow.

I AM a runner.

I run 4 miles with hills at least 3 times a week.

I've run in several races.

I run against me. No one else. My goal is to finish and try to beat my own personal time. Not what someone else tells me my time should be.

Because I can.

One of which was ten miles (TEN!) and had lots (LOTS!) of hills. The last mile was UPHILL!

And I did it.

Why?

For my Aunt Barbara.

I'm running because I can.

When I was first starting out it was painful. Down right miserable.

And then I'd think of my aunt.

Sick. Scared. Exhausted. Housebound because of chemo.

I can do this.

If she can do THAT.

I can do THIS.

And I did.

I just signed up for my first 1/2 marathon (and it's flat - I haven't completely lost my everlovin mind).

Over the past 3 years I've had a few injuries (one related to an overzealous rendition of the chicken dance) not to mention the fact that I am getting older by the second. I've gotten better at listening to my body and knowing when I need to take a walk break or a few days break. Heck - when to take Motrin and an Epsom's salt bath or when just a glass of wine will do ;-)

I finally feel comfortable calling myself a runner. After all, with the clown shoes on I better claim it. Either that or join the circus.

 

Stinson Lite

 

These babies feel like I'm running on air. Instead of pounding the pavement I am now doing the Hoka (One One) Polka.

Will you join me?

Clown shoes not required.

Circus optional.