I'm not taking this running thing seriously enough :P

My husband told me yesterday, “You’re running more for the comedic aspect of it than you are for the sport. You just want something funny to write about.”

 Do I really?

I would love nothing more than to be a stealth runner—a lean, mean, blazing running machine. I would love to blog about how in two short months I went from running zero miles to having the endurance to run 50 miles in 50 minutes. That would be sweet.

I would love to write about my success at this running sport, and be the Big-Girl-Running-Mom-Poster-Child, who zips by you so fast that you have to ask yourself, “Was that her? I couldn’t read her cape.”

But I can’t. My running knowledge is weak and so is my body. It is what it is. Funny things happen to me while I run. I didn’t plan it that way, it just sort of went that direction. I can’t help it—it all started with the sports bra purchase and got funnier from there.

If I can’t laugh at the absurdity of my own situation, then I will most certainly turn into a Debbie Downer (Don’t know who she is? Check out Saturday Night Live).  I could get down on myself (and don’t let me misinform you, because there have been plenty of times that I have), but what does it get me? Does being sad about my running ability make me run any faster? Does being funny about it? NO. Neither does.

I am doing what I can do. I measure my milestones not in miles but in points of miles and I wave my arms triumphantly above my head when I have run farther than I ever have (even if it is only .2 of a mile more). I will take it, because tomorrow I will add another .1 mile and from there it will get bigger and better.

Two months ago, I looked at a one-mile running course and thought “NO WAY.” Now here I am. One mile is easy, and if we can laugh a little along the way on this crazy running journey, then why the heck not.

I don’t like being serious anyway.