I'm not a runner. Not in the sense of... well, really, not in any sense. Though at one point in my life I was walking so much that my massage therapist *thought* I was a runner, which to me meant something. Secretly, I've always wanted to be a runner... I think mainly because I've always wanted to have really, really great legs... and runners often have them.
Two very good friends of mine and a host of acquaintances are runners... runners in the sense that they talk about how many miles in a week they run and how fast and how their toenails are doing and how often they buy new shoes and how many pair of shoes they rotate through. Maybe some of you are runners.
Well, tonight I ran. Jogged might be a better term, interspersed with walking. It was (embarassingly?) the second time that I'd attemped running since having a baby, with decidedly better results. The first time made me feel as if half of my body (the inner half) was moving in a different direction)... not a good feeling.
But tonight, after a meeting at work I came home, kissed my husband, peeked on my baby (how much longer do I get to call him a baby?) and headed out into the beautiful summer night. I make no promises about keeping this up (which I know and understand is key to being a runner), but it sure felt good tonight.
And now, I'm heading to shower. Because really, I stink.