I Quit

My face is red. I can feel the sweat rolling down my neck. My legs hurt. My breathing is heavy. “What the hell am I doing?” I ask myself. But I keep moving. My feet pound the ground in a steady rhythm.

Mile one.

The idea came to me last summer. Out of the blue, I decided I wanted to run a race. Not a marathon. Not a sprint. A simple 5K would do. (That's 3.5 miles for the metricly challenged).

At forty-ahem years old, I admit I’m not much of an athlete. In the days BC (before children), I played a lot of volleyball. I was younger. Much younger. Much, much, much younger.

When I was in college, I would play all day if I could. But I kept getting older and my opponents kept getting younger.

So I quit.

My shirt is soaked. I smell like a locker room. My feet hurt. “Is it time to stop yet?” I ask myself. But I keep moving. My arms rock back and forth. I try to concentrate on my steps.

Mile two.

I tried the gym next. Water bottle. Check. Headphones. Check. Work out clothes. Clean towel. Check. I spent hour upon mundane hour slogging on the treadmill. Always walking. Never getting anywhere. It got boring.

So I quit.

Three kids later, I desperately needed to exercise. But there was no time. Eric’s soccer practice was on Wednesday. The girls’ music class was on Tuesday. Thursday was swim class. There wasn’t room for exercise.

So I quit.

I plod past a man standing by his car. I recognize him. He started the race when I did. But he's finished the race. He’s heading home already; and I am still running. He waves as I jog past. “You’re almost there.” He smiles. I keep moving.

Mile three.

I came up with the idea of running a race last summer. It seemed so crazy. So impossible. So improbable. I couldn’t even say the words aloud.

"You're a bit old to take up running" I told myself. But the idea kept nagging me until I gave into it.

I knew if I had any chance of pulling this off, I needed a partner in crime. I sent an e-mail to my friend Erin. “Hey, I have a crazy idea. Hear me out before you say no. We should take up running. It’s great exercise. What do you think?”

Her response: “Run? Only if I’m being chased.”

This was going to take more persuasion.

My breathing is heavy. My feet are throbbing. I’m not sure I can go any further. But I can see the finish line. So I keep moving.

I think back to a year ago. The first day I ran. I barely made it to the end of the block. A mile seemed like forever.

It's getting closer. I pick up my pace. My heart is racing. Just a few more steps.

This time, I didn’t quit.

P.S. Erin ran this 5K with me. A few weeks later, she was scheduled to run a half marathon.