I have run many, many miles over the years. Some years are filled with more miles than others. But, even off years remind me why I love running.
Running, the word, may conjure up images of the fleet-of-foot floating across the pavement shoes merely nicking the ground. Those thin, waif-like creatures who make the motion seem effortless. For some, running is about a certain minute-per-mile time. Anything slower than their arbitrary cutoff is “jogging.”
I never fit any of these images. If I starred in the tortoise and the hare, I would be the tortoise. I am not waif-like, nor do I float. These days my minute-per-mile time is slower than the walking pace of some. Even when I don’t fit the image or time of a “runner” that is just what I call myself. Not a “jogger,” but a runner. It is a mindset. A view of self that is not captured by the word jogger. In my mind, I am the waif skimming the pavement.
Now, I am 23 weeks pregnant. Running, fast or slow, isn’t happening. I did about a half mile yesterday, but realized that keeping my heart rate low wasn’t happening even with my slow pace. When I found out I was pregnant with my second child I had images of cruising through the end of pregnancy. Lots of women have done it. But the fatigue of pregnancy overcame my best efforts. So I am a walker, for now. I will put miles on pushing my son waiting for the day I can run again.
(A shout out to a friend who began a running apparel company for the big runner. For all the Clydesdales out there, get your gear here, from the Clydesdale Running Company.)