Seems like everyone I know is.
In training, I mean. Marathons, long-distance bike rides, triathlons, cyclocross races…
I admire the hell out of each one of them – people pushing themselves hard, stretching for a goal they decided on and committed to way back when it was cold out every day, raising money through their work for camp for kids with cancer, ALS research, shelters for kids in crisis, big brothers and sisters, and all kinds of other important causes. I admire them and want to support them and cheer them on.
And it’s so easy to turn around and look at myself with a heaping pile of self-loathing and a big fat label of LAZY.
I’m not in training for anything, and I kinda think I should be.
Two years ago, I trained myself up. Somehow I got really excited about running, and ran some 5Ks, then a 10K, then decided to train myself up for a 1/2 marathon. I hurt my knee a few weeks before I was to run it, and my longest runs to that point were about 10 and 11 miles.
10 and 11 miles? It still freaks me out. It felt really, really amazing to be able to do that. It feel really really out of reach at the moment, with 30 pounds back on and a whole lot of sluggishness to combat. I liked myself a whole lot better when I was in training.
I don’t know if I even want to get back to those longer distances. I can’t start there. It’s funny– If I had started running with the idea of running that far I would never have kept at it, because success would have been impossibly far down the road. I remember celebrating the first time I ran a whole mile. The first time I ran a 5K/ The first time I ran for a whole hour. And so on. That’s where I’m at now– I need to approach this as a beginner. Again. Because I am.