The first time I experienced discomfort while running was back in the fall of ‘88. After navigating puberty, I found little joy in eighth-grade gym class. My once agile body, capable of effortlessly sprinting across playgrounds, was now weighed down by the changes of adolescence. Each step around the track felt like a reminder of my fuller hips and breasts, leading me to conclude that I would never willingly consider myself a runner.
During high school, I avoided sports, largely due to my aversion to running. Occasionally, my friends and I would don our stylish Spandex and trot around downtown, our high ponytails swinging in rhythm until we reached our limits—usually just a mile. In reality, I think we attempted this only three times over six years, rewarding ourselves with hot fudge sundaes at the local Dairy Bar afterward, which was honestly the only reason I participated. My disdain for running remained strong, but the allure of ice cream and camaraderie kept me engaged.
While in college, I walked extensively and even taught step aerobics, but running was never part of the equation. I had bought into the false notion that runners are born, not made, and I certainly didn’t see myself in that light.
That perspective shifted when I was 35. One day, after wrestling my kindergartner and his younger siblings into the car post-pickup, I noticed a graceful woman jogging down the street. Clad in black running tights, she moved effortlessly, even as she ascended a steep hill. I, in the comfort of my warm SUV, felt a pang of envy as I observed her radiant smile. It was 2 degrees outside, yet she exuded freedom and joy. I longed for that sense of liberation. I promised myself that someday, I would become a runner.
Fast forward a few years, and it was just after my 39th birthday that I finally took the plunge. My children were older and more independent. One day, I decided I had to start running. I was slower than a sloth, but I was determined to prove myself wrong and reclaim my sense of empowerment.
The exhilaration I felt after that first run was unlike anything I had experienced before. You might find it cliché, but it marked the beginning of a transformative journey—one that affected my mindset, my spirit, and my overall self. I hadn’t realized how much I needed this change, waiting patiently until I was ready to embrace it. The right moment arrived when I chose to run for myself, fueled by self-love rather than self-criticism.
Since that pivotal day, I haven’t looked back. With my children now older, I often rise early, slip into my running gear, and relish those quiet moments on my front porch while the rest of the household sleeps. I take a moment to appreciate the sunrise before I set off, running toward it. After my daily ritual, I find it far easier to navigate the chaos of family life, knowing I have a pocket of time awaiting me the next day—time to be lost in my thoughts, free from anxiety or obligations.
If you find yourself overwhelmed by the demands of parenting and life, yearning to explore biking, running, skiing, or any activity that ignites that sense of freedom, give yourself grace. Trust that you will discover your passion—something you simply can’t live without. Don’t tell yourself it’s impossible or too challenging; you absolutely can do it.
How do I know? Because you’re raising kids, and if you can handle that, you can conquer anything.
For more insights on the journey of home insemination, check out our other blog posts, including this one on privacy policies. If you’re interested in understanding more about artificial insemination, visit this link; they provide valuable information on the subject. Additionally, the CDC offers excellent resources on pregnancy and home insemination at this page.
In summary, starting to run at an older age can lead to transformative changes in one’s life. It’s never too late to begin a journey of self-discovery and empowerment. Embrace the challenge, and you might find a new passion that enriches your life.