Happy Run-iversary!

It was a Saturday afternoon, and my husband and I had appointments at the hair salon: him first, then me. The day was sunny and warm and full of promise, and while my husband got his hair cut, I changed my life.

I went running for the very first time one year ago today. I had a brand new heart rate monitor strapped to my chest and a 29-minute heart-rate-based interval workout printed on a piece of paper in my pocket, and there was a swanky subdivision sprawled out behind the hair salon that begged exploration.

I spent more time walking than running, I am certain. I couldn't run for 30 seconds without my heart rate hitting the stratosphere. So I'd walk until the number went down to where it was supposed to be, then run until it was too high again (20-30 seconds).

I just retraced my route on Gmaps pedometer. In 29 minutes, guess how far I went?

1.7 miles.

Yup, that's it. 1.7 miles in 29 minutes. That's a 17:03 pace per mile, a dismal failure by any sort of speed-based standard.

But I didn't feel like a failure at all. I felt hugely successful because I had kept my heart rate at the figure the little piece of paper told me to keep it at. I felt great. In my on-line workout log, I wrote, "First interval workout--was so busy concentrating on heart rate and timing that I barely noticed the actual exercise part! Was winded but not exhausted at end."

And that's the other key to my success, I believe: "Was winded but not exhausted at end." I was tired, but not gasping for air or praying for death. I had successfully hit the heart rate numbers on the piece of paper, and I felt like I had gotten a workout, but not killed myself doing so.

I was off and running. Literally.

Three weeks later, I wrote this entry in my training log: "I ran up to the outdoor track in the sleet. I think I'm addicted, LOL! The track felt really nice on my feet. I will probably go up there again."

I ran on that track no fewer than fifty times over the next eight months.

Three months after Day 1, my rocket had definitely left the pad: "I did it I did it I did it I did it I did it!!!! I ran 3.0889 miles (so we'll call it 3.1, and thus a 5K) in 35:00 flat! It was pretty horrible and uncomfortable at the end but I DID IT!! I was running 5 minutes on, 1 minute or so off, and it definitely got harder after I crossed the 2-mile mark. That's an 11:16 pace. Over 3 miles. WOO-HOO!"

Four months after I wrote that entry, I ran in a local 5K race and completed the distance in an amazing (for me) 30:03. Five minutes faster.

I also lost 12 pounds in 6 months. My migraine headaches decreased drastically in both frequency and severity. My skin looked better. I slept better. I felt better.

It is no exaggeration to say that running has changed my life.

I am grateful now that I decided to start running when I did--eight months before my mother's lymphoma boorishly barged in uninvited, the world's rudest, nastiest, most obnoxious and unwelcome houseguest.

I was ready to take on the challenge of running a half-marathon for her, and now I stand a mere 55 days away from the event. I have gotten to know some wonderful people, experienced the kindness and generosity of dozens of others who supported my fundraising efforts with amounts large and small, public and anonymous, and achieved things I never would have believed possible a year ago.

This is all thanks to running.

I'll close with a picture. This picture is of my right foot coming down to hit the finish line at the five-mile race I ran last Saturday, up and down hills in the cold and wet. The race I ran at an "easy pace," finishing in a fantastic (for me) 51:25.

Amanda, you've come a long way, baby. You're a runner now.