Well, well, funny how a year comes full circle. This time last year I was grunting and sweating my way through 30 minutes on the tread with the alternate run/walk combo. The months that followed I was actually running about 3 times a week and made it to a consecutive 30 minutes at a nice easy pace. With the help of Netflix and headphones, I even made it through 45 minutes of running with a little 5 minute pre- and post- warm up. Dare I say I even considered running in a, gasp, 5K?
Then I went to the doctor. "Dr. S, I am dying." "Again," she says in a drab monotone voice without missing a beat. "Why this time?" Concerned that I can't breath as deep as my fellow yogis while twisting my body into a human pretzel and then having watched entirely too many pharmaceutical commercials on TV, I just thought it prudent to insist on a lung test. So off I went to see if my breathing was compromised. Long story short: By doing something good, like running, which I came to enjoy and actually provided healthy jube-jubes, I, in turn, acquired an annoying a pesky little friend called "sports induced asthma." Devestated and refusing to become a slave to a prescribed drug, I talked myself into giving up my runs.
Not cool. Think of where I could be today.
Flash to today: Feeling like Bikram Yoga and my normal Saturday morning yoga sessions just aren't the complete ticket, I have decided to get back in the game. Me and my new friend, Mr. Inhaler, will be taking to the treads and practicing the old strategy preached by my high school friend Anne, by simply putting one foot in front of the other.
Games begin tomorrow am with an episode of Madmen on the iPAD to take my mind off the beginning pain. Keep me honest, y'all. Hold me accountable if you don't see a blog post.
Tomorrow begins now.
