Saturday morning, we had tball / machine pitch baseball games for both kiddos. At the game last weekend, I noticed one of the moms on Alyssa's team taking tons and tons of pictures. I also noticed that she was wearing what could only be described as running clothes.
And because misery loves company and because occasionally I think it'd be fun to have a running partner, I asked her about it on Saturday.
Actually, the exact phrase I used was "are you a runner?"
The response I got was one that I would have given a year ago - that she wouldn't call herself a runner, but she runs. I didn't press it any further, and she didn't seem eager to talk about it.
I mulled that exchange over today during my six miler. Somewhere in the last 6 months or so, I've gone from being semi-embarrassed at calling myself a runner to embracing the title. No, I don't run marathons (yet?), and no, I don't run the ungodly number of miles that some runners cover each week. But I do run, and I've gotten some good experience and a solid baseline, and longer runs don't scare the bejesus out of me like they used to. So I sort of feel "worthy" of calling myself a runner - for the time being, anyway.
I don't think running has quite overtaken tennis as my first love - I still adore winning tough matches and smacking the hell out of a tennis ball. But I no longer think of myself as primarily a tennis player. Hmmm...
Sorry tennis, but I think I may be having an affair. It's not you, it's me - I promise! But try not to worry. All that running around? Can only help me on the court.
1 comment:
The only time I have ever enjoyed running was when it was with a partner. Something about having someone else there to push and cajole one forward.
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