At the age of 40, I was completely drained. Struggling through a rocky marriage, juggling finances, and nursing our fourth child had me feeling like a walking zombie. The clichés of motherhood hit me like a freight train, and I was terrified that the word “martyr” was about to start glowing on my forehead like in a fantasy movie.
Sick of doing squats in my living room, I pondered my exercise alternatives. Gym memberships? No thanks, too expensive. Swimming? Been there, done that. Laying on my couch with a baby attached to me and feeling the extra jiggle beneath me, my eyes landed on my running shoes. I had never been a runner, and I always considered myself terrible at it. Sure, I could manage a treadmill, but outdoor running was a recipe for misery: shin splints, earaches, constant nose-running, headaches, and embarrassing itchy red patches. Clearly, I wasn’t born for this.
But, wait—running was free! I had everything I needed and could just step outside my door. Plus, those catchy Nike slogans kept nagging me to seize the day. So, I laced up and hit the suburban streets.
Initially, it was a disaster. I felt like a tree being jackhammered into the pavement—totally lacking grace. But oddly enough, it felt good. I returned home, drenched in sweat and panting, and I actually felt like I had achieved something. My body, which desperately needed movement, was finally getting the attention it craved.
Here are a few rules I established that might help you if you’re thinking about starting your own running journey:
It’s Okay to Take Breaks