One Mile.

There was a time I called myself a runner. Hard to believe, uh? It's true. Rourk and I used to run several times a week together. We ran more 5Ks than I can list, a handful of 10Ks, a trail race (never again) and a half marathon in 2002. I even walked a second half in 2003 while pregnant with Ryan.

I believe Rourk enjoyed it. I never did that much. I found myself in the zone a few times while we were training for the half marathon. Sure, I liked going to work on Monday mornings and telling people I ran the River Bend Run and others like it, but running was always work for me. (I am number 33 in the 25-29 age bracket.) I guess running is work for everyone, but there are those that make it appear effortless. I was always envious of them. I on the other hand become drenched in sweat within the first mile and look as if I am about to pass out from heat exhaustion. I am not graceful. I do not glide along. I must work for every step.

Running is a mental game for me. I would always start in the middle of the pack in most races. I was never out to win; my goal was to NOT come in last. I'd start out slow knowing I'd need to conserve my energy. Once I started to get tired I'd try to find something to think about that was as far away from running as possible. Work, a book, anything but the road or the heat or the side stitch. I'd often find something to concentrate on that was in front of me. Usually another runner. I remember one time picking out a orange hat and telling myself "Keep your eye on the prize." I blocked everything out except following the orange hat and getting over the finish line.

I played a mental game this morning. I ran a mile on the treadmill. I am not in shape. In fact I am in terrible shape. It took almost 14 minutes to run a mile. I kept looking at the monitors on the treadmill and thinking "****, if I were running a 5K it would take me 40 plus minutes to finish at this pace." Then I decided to try one of my old tricks...I decided to concentrate on my diploma. It was hanging on the wall in front of me. I fixed my gaze on the president's signature, then my maiden name and then the etching of the school. I didn't think about the time or my lousy pace or the fact that I couldn't breath. It seemed to work, because it wasn't long before I noticed the lap monitor indicated that I had covered a mile.

I think to myself, this is good. I am alive. I am not completely washed up. My body just might recover from having two babies. Where's that 5K calendar?