Pier at Berkeley Marina.
Slow doesn’t begin to express the pace at which I ‘run’. If I had to rate myself on a scale between the tortoise and the hare, I’d be the snail who moved so slowly, he didn’t even get acknowledged in the story because he’s still on his way to the finish line.
Despite this fact (which, annoyingly and frustratingly, doesn’t seem to be improving), I ‘ran’ six miles this past weekend. That puts me about half way and ten weeks away from the goal of 13.1.
I’ve been trying, on and off, to get into running for about three years now, and every time I take on a new program or race, I’ve waited for some seminal moment when the running gods grant me with the feeling of, “Yes! I am a runner!” (After which, of course, I run up a tower of stairs Rocky-style). I’ve tried three different training programs, completed an 8K, a 6-miler, and about a dozen 5Ks, but, it seems, the gods are fickle. I suppose that feeling comes in different ways for everyone, still I wonder, what will it take?
Maybe my God-sent moment shall arrive this week, but I’m not putting any money on it–seriously, would you take those odds?
