I am not a runner, or so my brain tells me. But I’m learning that not everything I believe is true and am untangling the limiting beliefs.

Running and I have a complicated relationship, actually its marginally abusive. I try every few years, running beats me to a pulp and I skulk off to the couch, usually holding my aching calf. And yet, here I am, trying again. Why?

Why not? Just because it’s hard for me is not a good enough reason not to do it. Winter has been soggy and miserable and an hour of skipping around the puddles seems more efficient than gearing up for a soggy ride, getting the bike ready and then having to clean up the aftermath. Running feels like less gear, less commitment and definitely less clean up once you’re home. Besides, this old dog is keen to learn some new tricks.

I am slow and I’m ploddy, but I am also patient. I know that everything is harder than expected, so now I just adjust my expectations. I’m also learning to just be ok with where I am so I don’t get discouraged as easily. I learned that lesson on the bike and finding that it applies to running and also to life. Slow and struggly isn’t the worst thing in the world, just ask the tortoise.

There’s also something so empowering about staying with the discomfort. I can’t really explain it because I don’t understand it, but its there, and I love it.

I shuffle along for 5 minutes and then need to walk for a minute. It used be 2 minutes and then 3 minutes, and slowly 4 minutes became 5 minutes. I’m determinedly focused on the progress and the process, not the struggle. Sometimes I use my one minute recovery to look around and take in the magic of it all.

I’m surprised, and a little delighted, every single time I get out that I’m not yet hating it. I don’t love it either, but maybe that part comes later. I think I love having gone for a run better than I love running. All the while I’m out, my brain is outraged, yelling, “You can’t do this, you’re not a runner. Let me protect you”. My body says, “But what if we try? Let’s just try.”

So we’re trying and as it turns out, trying is doing. Invariably when I get home, I’m ever so pleased with myself. That’s reason enough to go out the next time, don’t you think?