As of today, I’ve been running for one year. It’s a big milestone for me. Sorry, no boobs in this post, followers.
A year ago today, I fearfully jumped on a treadmill to start the Couch-to-5K program. I kept going back. I ran a 5K, and almost cried when I finished it. I didn’t think I could ever run three miles. Not after a long fight with eating disorders. Not after drug abuse, nine years of smoking, some problem drinking, feet being in stilettos for two years. I didn’t think I could run three miles. But then I did.
So I kept trying to find out what my limit was, what the very maximum I could do, as this specific, real human being who’s very far from being anything like an elite athlete.
In just one year, I’ve run 11 races. 5 of them at half-marathon distance or longer, and I’ve run a relay across an entire state. I won a race in December, I’ve placed well in several others, I’ve collected a pile of medals, and I’ve set my sights on running at least a half-marathon or longer in each US state (for now). I’m currently training for my first full marathon, very happily.
I’m still chasing my limits, but I can’t seem to find them. I don’t know whether I’m running towards or from something, but it never really mattered.
Because as it turns out, we’re all capable of much more than any of us ever thought we could be.
You might not be a runner, Blog Follower, but I hope that you’re chasing your own limits.
Celebratory banana muffins and wine are in order. Cheers!