I hated running. I still remember all the gym classes at junior high and high school while growing up in The Netherlands, especially the ones held outside in what my teachers would call "nice weather". To warm up we were forced to run around 5 soccer fields within a certain time limit. If we didn't arrive in time, we were forced to run around the fields another time - in my opinion certainly not the right way to promote the joy of running or even exercising in general.
It was first in January last year, after being stuck on the couch for six weeks with a cast around my broken ankle, that I discovered the joy of running and the feeling of having "eternity legs". Not being able to walk on two feet - or run for that matter, having to get around on crutches, somehow triggered the desire to be able to run for miles on end. So as soon as the cast came off, I started to push my boundaries on the treadmill at the gym. First goal was to be able to run for 10 minutes on end, the next to be able to run 30 minutes and after a couple of weeks of running on the treadmill the big goal was to be able to do 10K within an hour - a goal that I achieved and still try to maintain and improve - everytime trying to cut down a couple of seconds.
A minor setback in my progress came earlier this year though, as I was told that I wasn't allowed to run for five weeks after they operated on my ankle again - this time to removed the plate and six screws they had fixed my broken ankle with. It felt like I had to start all over again, and to keep focus I signed up for this women only 5K run. I had never participated in a run before, and certainly wasn't used to running outside, but the fee was paid so I'd better get my ass into gear.
So there I was at the start of the local 5K run, after only weeks of trying to get back into shape, hoping that I would be able to finish within 28 minutes - a goal I had set for myself and only told my hubby about. As soon as I heard the starting pistol, I started and turned on my pulse monitor and timer - or thought I turned it on. Somehow it didn't work this time, and I just had to use the clock and my gut feeling to track my progress along the hilly 5K track down in the city centre of Molde.
Half a mile from the finish I saw my husband standing alongside the road and told him that I thought I had been running for 29 minutes, already kind of giving him a heads up on my disappointment of not being able to achieve the goal I had set for myself.
Next thing I turn around the street corner and see the finish line and the timer right next to it - stating that I had been running for only 26 minutes and 51 seconds. A smile returned upon my face and I found the last bit of energy to sprint to the finish. I did it! I did it! I did it! I achieved my goal - I finished in 27 minutes and 12 seconds!
The running bug has definitely bit me once again, because now I'm actually considering signing up for another local run - this time a 12.5K run along the famous Atlantic Road... Could this be the beginning of an semi-official running career?
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