Stride

I’m not a runner.

But I try to get outside and pretend to be one every now and again.

If you’ve had the misfortune of seeing me out there, you know I don’t exactly look like a runner.

(More like a sweaty-toothed madman.)

But today I actually had a moment.  While I was running.  Not my standard why-am-I-doing-this type of moment.  Like an epiphany kind of moment.

I reached a hill.  (What felt like a crazy-steep, insurmountable hill that seemed to want to claim my very life.)

And so I started to walk.

And

for the first time in my limited running experience

walking

felt

slow.

It was weird.

I wasn’t exactly physically able to run just then.  (I was barely physically able to breathe actually.)

But my feet

just

wanted

to

go faster.

That doesn’t happen to me.

During my “runs” when I start walking, that’s all I usually want to do.  I have to force myself to pick up the pace.

But today

I wanted to

get moving.

To run.

You know what else is crazy?  (Besides the steep hill or the scary goose that clicked his beak-thing in a rather aggressive manner at me?)

When I do manage to run, I think I have finally found my stride.  (Or is that too bold of a claim coming from a non-runner?)

I used to do a shuffle-shuffle-shuffle kind of dance, barely lifting my feet from the ground.

I had to will myself to run for two minutes before walking for one minute.  (Two minutes!  Do you hear how pitiful that sounds?   To think I couldn’t run for two whole minutes in a row?  And I couldn’t, you know.)

But now I can.

I really can.

Hey, I can run a whole mile without stopping.  (Or falling over.  Although sometimes I do trip.)

I know.  I know. To real runners, walking is faux pas and tripping is for amateurs and running for two minutes and then walking for one is for sissies.

Just call me a faux pas making, amateur sissy.

I’m okay with that.

Because for me

this running

this moving my legs in a semi-structured fashion out of doors while my feet are encased in sneakers

this desire to move faster instead of slower

this mile without stopping

is

all

progress

to me.

It’s all victory.

And like pretty much every other victory in my life

it’s been

slow

going.

And if I want to call that

slow going

hitting

my

stride,

then

I

think

I

will.