Easy as Cake

I have never been an athlete. Okay, that’s not true.  But aside from a short and brutal stint as a rower and coxswain in college, I’ve really only associated the gym with agony and sweat with weight-loss. I was the fattest kid on the playground. I would rather read books—until now.

Last December, I made a promise to myself to run a half-marathon in 2009. What began as a late night chat in my parent’s kitchen became my present passion and goal. My friend V and I began that winter’s night not with talk of running but with cups of tea and a shared desire to globetrot—anywhere we could afford as soon as possible. V had just traveled abroad for the first time last May and her wanderlust piqued my own, so we started looking for cheap tickets to cool places: Athens, Barcelona, Paris but then she said: “Hey, why don’t we just do a half marathon?”

For a strong, athletic girl from a die-hard running family, this remark was akin to: “Let’s just bake a cake!” With the right ingredients and a little practice, V was destined to be successful. I however, needed a little more work. Even in December, I was not  and am not a total neophyte to running: two years of crew workouts followed by a wonderful but low-paying teaching job and a desperate need for my clothes to fit lead me to keep up with the sport—at least to the point where I could run six miles if I really really wanted to.

If I can run six miles, why not seven more? 

The sweetness of the challenge compelled me and I agreed to compete in Boston in the fall of 2009. Supported by family, friends and loved ones who believe both in the power of running and in me, I’ve been training hard and steadily since January 1^st.  With the half- marathon still six long months away, my goal at the moment is to “get the miles in,” to build a solid running base, a strong, healthy body, and (even more so) a strong discipline. As a writer and teacher, you’d think I had figured out this discipline thing long ago, but the truth is, commitment to a goal that requiring daily practice and patience is the hardest thing for me to do: I quit swimming lessons; I still can't play the flute; I only write essays when I have to; I am a master procrastinator and the queen of letting myself of the hook. I used to think that this gentleness was good for me (and it is to some extent) but mostly it makes me lazy and stops me from achieving the things I really want.

No more.

From now on, while my feet put in the miles, my fingers will put down the words.

Let’s see what happens, shall we?

R.