Fact: I am a runner.

Just a year ago, that statement would be the strangest thing I could ever say.  I might as well say, “I am a duck.” or “I sprout wings and fly around the city two days a week.”

I am a curvy, solid woman.  I was not built to be a runner.  I’ve never been lean, even when I was thin.  I’ve always liked that I build muscle easily and always have strength.

Running after middle school softball practice used to end with me in tears, in pain, after just a few sprints.  I’ve never been fast and I’ve never enjoyed running.  In fact – I went above and beyond to avoid it at all costs.  I’ve always loved sports and working out – just never running.

Nevertheless, today I can state, I am a runner. 

I always assumed you had to be built like a runner to run.  You had to be born with lungs much more able than mine to run.  You had to be anyone but me, to run.

Last fall, fresh off our wedding, I made a decision.  I was going to run the 500 Festival Mini Marathon in 2011.  I’ve lived in Indianapolis nearly my entire life and I’ve grown up with the month of May being sacrosanct. The Mini was just the beginning of what marks the most exciting month in the city.  Never, not once, did I ever have a desire to run the Mini – or run at all – until last fall.

I wanted a challenge.  Running was that challenge.  I wanted to do something I always said I could never do – just to prove to myself that nothing is impossible.  I wanted to prove that I could not only learn to do what I never thought I could – but also learn to love something that I’ve always hated.

So, I started slow.  Okay, technically I started at a dead stop – I started by reading books.  I love research. I love learning in general and I wanted to be fully equipped with knowledge before starting this new journey.  I checked about 10 books out of the library and dove in.  Out of the books, I pulled the most relevant information – what could I use, what was above my head, what didn’t apply and what did.

The stories were all about the same – everyone started slow – run until they couldn’t, then walk.  Soon enough, they were running farther than they ever could have imagined.

Easy enough.

So, step one – get out the door.  I trained alone, and then with a fitness club, successfully until about a two months before the Mini.  Then – it happened.

Injury.

I never anticipated the impact injury would have on my training.  The first time it hit was after I finished my first 10k.  I was so happy, so proud after that 10k – I finished at a 10sec/mile pace faster than I anticipated.  I ran farther than I ever had.  I felt stronger than I ever had.  I beat my mental walls – all my work led up to this, I had learned to love running.

I felt the pain in my foot, google-diagnosed and confirmed through friends. Diagnosis: tendinitis.  Prescription: ice, heat, rest. No running for 1-2 weeks.

So, I took the week off, cross-trained daily, stretched, iced, heated and rested.  I got back on it a week later and went out for a 5-mile run (albeit- a tentative 5-mile run.)  Mission completed, if not a bit slower than average.  But then, just as sure as the time before – the pain started up.  This time, much worse than before.  I did a short run again, the pain grew.  One more run, even more pain and it was determined.  No running again, this time for 2 weeks.  More cross training, more ice, more rest.

When I got back to running it was only 3 weeks away from race day.  The first run out was awful.  I got back in more frustrated, more upset than if I hadn’t gone at all.  The second run – same thing.  I was back at the beginning.  I could barely maintain my pace for a few miles, let alone be where I was or where I needed to be.

So, I had to make a hard decision.  I had to reevaluate my goal.  Did I want to complete my first mini? Yes.  Could I walk the mini and accomplish that? Yes.  Was that the ultimate goal?

No.  Not anymore.

The goal was no longer just to finish – just to complete it once, most likely injure myself again and then stop what I started.  No. The goal is not to finish and stop; not to half-ass it, tape it together just to cross the finish line.  My goal is to learn to love something that I’ve always hated.  To push my limits physically and mentally in a way I hadn’t ever done before.

I reevaluated the plan, signed up for another 13.1 (this time, in November) and developed a training plan that would allow me twice as long to increase mileage and build up to the 13.1.  After that, I’ll run the Mini Marathon next year.  After that – I’ll continue to run and sign up for more races.  It may seem like quitting to some – I didn’t complete the race as planned, but it’s only quitting the easy way out, because the hard way – the long way – meant doing the right thing to build continuous momentum; not just half-assing it.

Because along the way – during the miles – I learned that running was more than just the number of miles ran.  It’s more than the number of calories burnt.  It’s not about losing pounds or looking cool or being fast (*because trust me, I will NEVER be fast. Ever.)

A run now is about the fact I pushed through the pain, about the fact my lungs are strong enough to run in the heat, about the peace and strength I feel after the run.  It’s not about 13.1.  It’s about the journey to get to the finish line – and keep going after that.

My run is worth more than the mileage number that marks it.