Attempting to run

I have started running. Which, for anyone who knows me well enough, is odd.

I actually hate running. Well, I used to hate running, now I am starting to find it a little more tolerable.

It all started because I wanted to spend more time outside during the warmer months in Michigan. Why didn't I pick up biking you ask? Well, my poor baby, Mea, is stuck inside all day and she needs to spend some time outside too. It's really hard for her to keep up with the bike, so I usually end up pedaling at snail pace and get absolutely no exercise out of the routine.

So, Scott and I decided on running. He began first- taking Mea for a brief one mile run in the mornings while I worked out in the living room to various Exercise TV routines. When he came home he always looked refreshed and ready for the day. Eventually his comments about the gorgeous flowers blooming made me jealous and I decided to sign up for running too.

I have been running religiously for a week. We did about 4.5 miles last week (I know, I am almost a pro) and some days were better than others. Friday was a tough fun- I truly thought I was going to die at the end of it.

I am hoping I stick with this as I usually tend to abandon things after a week or two of zealous effort. It's actually quite nice to run in the mornings when the rest of the world is slowly waking up. I love the smell of the morning dew, the soft sunlight breaking over the trees and houses, and the lack of noisy distractions.

It's my time of reckless abandonment, as silly as that may sound. Although I feel like keeling over, or vomiting from exhaustion at the 3/4 mark, I am always really glad I decided to do it.

My relationship with running, thus far, is quite contradictory. My joy peaks twice during the jog- at the very beginning when I first hit the pavement and then again at the very end when I know it's all over.