say it with pie

Can you believe? Athletics-averse me is halfway through the Couch to 5k running program. In a little over a month, I have gone from alternating between 90 seconds walking and 60 seconds jogging to jogging 3-5 minute stretches. I am seven runs away from jogging 25 minutes continuously, which sounds terrifying, but I’ve been able to keep up with the program so far.

While my stamina has improved and my butt and calf muscles are noticeably more toned, I’m just as proud of my newfound athletic confidence. I have a lot of negative associations with sports which date back to my childhood, when my precocious height and musculature guaranteed me a spot on every public school athletics team—whether I wanted to be there or not. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been forced into racing at cross country meets only to be last over the finish line, how many lay-ups I’ve missed at 7th grade basketball tournaments, and how many times I’ve fallen on my butt representing my school in triple-jump at Durham regionals. So many participation ribbons, so many glares from teammates, so little glory. No wonder I broke up with athletics.

But me and athletics were overdue for a reconciliation.

When I started running a month ago, I stuck to quiet residential streets in Cabbagetown. During the daytime, the only people in the area are moms-n-tots and building contractors; none pay much attention to the sweaty girl wheezing by them in her oversized t-shirt and pale, chunky legs. Today, I ran along Dundas and then back home on Gerrard—both major commuter routes for bikes and cars. Did I huff and puff and sweat in front of all those people on their way to their fancy Bay Street jobs? Yes I did, and I didn’t care! I used to stretch in my living room; now I stretch in parkettes or empty sidewalks.

Last week, I came downstairs in the morning with my hair pulled back into a ponytail, wearing a neon yellow racerback tanktop and a pair of capri-length athletic pants, stinking like sunscreen. As I strapped on my running shoes and my iPod armband, Pete laughed and said, “Hey, you look like a runner!”

Thanks, I am!