To Every Thing There is a Season

You know the girl, the girl that absolutely hates ALL sports. That is perfectly happy sitting, reading quietly in the library. Yes, with the four eyes. That never, not once, participated in an organized sport unless it was completely mandatory. That sat on the bench. Or cheered from the sidelines.

The girl that dreaded gym class with every fiber of her being. Never understood the rules of any game, except maybe dodge ball. Lacked all coordination needed to athletically perform any type of physical activity at all.

While other girls made playing volleyball look so cute and some could run like the wind around the bases of the baseball diamond playing softball. Or the cheerleaders . . . oh, let's not go there. The girls that made sweat look pretty on the basketball court. Yeah, not those girls. 

The one who got a soccer ball in the face when some wise guy decided it would be funny to throw it up in the air and hit it as hard as he could with a baseball bat, landing smack-dab on the bridge of the above-mentioned spectacles . . . making quite a spectacle in front of the entire middle school.

The one who even escaped state-mandated physical education class in high school via a note from her parents deeming co-ed sports were banned in accordance with strict religious beliefs.

The one that was always one of the last to get picked . . . and for good reason.

Yep . . . that's me.

Sports weren't my thing. I didn't like to move my muscles. At that time, I liked to be "lazy", which is okay when you're ten, but doesn't work out so well when you're 33 and spend over eight hours a day on your dairy aire. As I grew older and my metabolism began its evil ploy against me and I started to put on pounds, I joined Weight Watchers, which at the time taught much about what to eat, but put little emphasis on exercise. This worked out great for me and I was able to drop 30 lbs. by eating less and not breaking a sweat.

So, I know it came as a big surprise to many of those around me when I began running. And the only way to explain it is Ecclesiastes 3:1 "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven." And a praying mother-in-law, who wanted more than anything for her son to be healthy. So when he took up running, I followed suit.

In just a few weeks, I will run my 7th half marathon, yes 7th, for all those kids that laughed in gym class when I attempted to make a basketball shot from whatever that line is where you stand directly in front of the hoop, yep, missed. 7th, for all those kids that said girls in skirts can't run.

So, it's not the Olympics, but I'm moving. And this season I've taken on a new challenge. As I plug my way through my 84th year (well, it sure feels like it!) of college on my way to my Master's in Accounting, I read and run. I hate to admit it . . . but I'm starting to lose respect for those that just run. Rip through their neighborhood knocking out a 10 minute-mile. Big deal. Kinda' sorta. I understand. That's still pretty awesome.

Over the last few running years, I've struggled to keep a 10 minute-mile on the treadmill on a good day. And for those of you that don't run, the treadmill is more difficult than outdoor running when trying to increase your speed. But today I stood in sweat and amazement as I did my 4 mile run in just 40 minutes and 53 seconds, with a 2.0 incline and knocking out a chapter in my biology book on cellular respiration. Hello. Cellular respiration?!?!? It takes some skills, people!

Yeah, I guess you can say I'm an athlete now.