I have never been much of a runner. Ever. I remember those yearly presidential fitness tests that our gym teacher would force us to do in school. It was humiliating to be the kid in the class who could barely do 1 chin up, only make it to the second knot on the rope, and last to come in after the mile run. I remember one year, in high school, huffing and puffing so badly around the track, that I thought for sure I'd die. One guy came back after he finished his mile and ran with me. You know the type... the ones who look like a gazelle as they run. They almost look at if their legs just sort of bounce off the ground as they fly through the air. He was that guy, and he cheered me on all the way to the finish. It was a nice jesture, but I felt so "less than" in that moment. This guy, runs back, cheers for me...and all I can do is think about how I wish the earth would open up and swallow me. I still don't know his motive. Was he being nice? Was he making fun of me in a passive aggressive sort of way? I think he genuinely was helping, but I was humilated. He was barely jogging beside me, and there I was, sweat dripping, out of breath, clomping down the track... I felt so heavy.
He ran like a gazelle. I ran like King Kong. He floated. I caused earthquakes.
Or so it felt.
Workout 1 was rough. I did it, but I screamed, I grunted, I yelled. I felt like that chubby 10th grader all over again. I was sure it sounded like I would crash thru the floor at any moment, to those downstairs beneath me. But shaking the house or not, I finished.
And I will finish again today. :)