We run because...

The Conversion

Tonight, it happened: I became a runner.

I heard once that if you asked a group of people if they were runners, the majority would say no. If you then asked the same group if they ran, the majority would say yes.

For the last two years, I've had an on-again-off-again relationship with running. But even in the height of my training stints, I would go out of my way to tell people, "But I'm definitely not a runner."

Tonight that all changed. Somewhere between the lakefront sunset and Kylie Minogue's Dancefloor, it hit me, and I said it out loud so I couldn't deny it later: "I'm loving this run."

I really can't tell you what changed, but I do know that I've never felt that strong for the whole 9 miles. And I liked it.

Some of my friends believe that we create reality with our words. So I'll say it again.

I am a runner.

(almost)

I am the girl who, in seventh grade, feigned sickness to avoid running the mile in gym. Chalk it up to all the classic reasons: self-consciousness, fear of failure, embarrassment.

So this year, I'm running a marathon. Because now, at (almost) 25, I'm (almost) over the fact that it's going to be hard and that I'm slow and that I get sweaty and that there are lots of runners that are better than me.

And it's kind of a thrill, this not caring about what other people think thing. You should try it.