I started running consistently about five months ago.
Prior to that, my history of running, or maintaining any form of exercise consistently for more than two weeks, was as follows: (this space intentionally left blank)
So, in other words, I have never been athletic in my life. In fact, no one in my family had ever been athletic, either, so it wasn't in my genes or even on my radar growing up. I did not understand why anyone would want to torture themselves with that much exertion, not to mention the time commitment involved. Did not compute.
At the same time, though, whenever I would see someone running (seemingly effortlessly) down the street, head up, perfect form, I would marvel at how strong they looked, and I wished that could be me. Then I'd just shake my head and drive away. "Maybe in my next life," I'd think.
I'd often, but inconsistently, go for walks on my lunch break. "Just 30 minutes of exercise a day, no matter what it is, keeps you healthy." I would do that, as my schedule allowed. My heart rate just always stayed safely below 100 and I never broke a sweat (except for the few times a year I went on a hike or did some strenuous gardening, but due to the infrequency, I hesitate to even mention it).
Well, about six or seven months ago, I was struggling with really bad PMS. This "really bad PMS" was striking for probably a year or so at that point. I am talking about literally feeling like I was possessed by a monster for two weeks out of every month. As long as nobody rocked my boat, I was fine; but if my feathers got ruffled, the monster came out. By monster, I mean, bitch from hell. Imagine a super bitch engulfed in flames (but the flames aren't burning her) running toward you with mouth agape and brows so crossed they practically overlap, and you just knew she was from hell. That is probably what I looked like during my fits of outrage.
When not flipping my wig, I was super sensitive and neurotic, which would lead to my feathers being ruffled, which would bring out the monster again. A vicious cycle, for about two weeks, out of every month.
After complaining about this to someone one day, they advised me to talk to my gynecologist about possibly getting on some medication, like Prozac, to help keep me more even-keeled. I hesitated for months and then finally decided, in the best interest of my family and of saving my marriage, I should give it a try. I sent him an email and explained my symptoms and asked for a prescription for Prozac. He called me within the hour.
"Are you getting any exercise?" he asked. I stumbled over my words a bit and then said, "No, I haven't exercised in a while." By "a while" I meant, several months. He said he would put in a prescription for Prozac, but he recommended I try exercising, first.
Well, I never picked up that prescription, but I did start thinking more seriously about exercising, and more specifically, about running. I started to imagine myself tying up my shoes, leaping out my front door with gusto, and running out into the sunshine (of course in perfect weather, with birds chirping in the trees above), and just feeling so strong and "hard core," and free, and invincible.
I was just about to turn 39 at the time, and the thought of turning 40 gave me the willies. I decided, to help me cope with my transition into "the dark, downward spiral of my 40s"(as I imagined it would be), I needed to go into it in the best shape of my life. "I am going to start running!" I decided at that moment, and I sealed it with a "I Dream of Jeannie" type arm cross and nod.
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