I'm not a runner.
Wait, let me start over.
!!Newsflash!! I'm not a runner.
I typically huff and puff my way to a treadmill mile then move on to something less threatening and more fun.
So why was it when Lisa mentioned that a friend of hers was putting together a 12-person (6-couples) team to relay race all the way from Chattanooga to Nashville my interest was piqued? Skyrocketed?
Internal dialogue: that's crazy, I could never do that. unless I trained. which wouldn't be fun. but the race might be fun. it would be different, a goal, a singular life experience. think of the glory. trying something hard is good. you'll grow. stronger.
That day (for the first time ever?) I ran two miles. That's all it took. I was hooked. I talked with Scott about it on and off for days, read every page on the website, copied down the training schedule (the "beginner" one) and started to follow it. Without ever actually talking to the lady organizing this deal and committing. I kept it as an idea, a thought, an imaginary end to a made up story for awhile, to see if it would fizzle out or hang on. It hung. We're running.
My progress is slow but steady. I can run a few miles without stopping or thinking I'm going to die now.
Scott rocks the casbah. Seriously, the following anecdote perfectly typifies Scott when he decides to try something physically challenging. (note: He's not a runner either.) So the other night, after looking at the various legs of the race, he decided to go and see just how far he could run. He came back to announce that he went 8 miles without stopping. What, huh? Just like that? Of course.