Running Snob

My dad once called me a Running Snob.
At the time, I thought it was an unfair evaluation.
Looking back, I realize that anyone who points and laughs at joggers
and makes her new husband run wind sprints on his honeymoon deserves that title.

It's my dad's fault, really.
When I was in 7th grade, he promised to buy me a red, plastic tracksuit from Dots
that I seriously wanted (Why? I don't know.) if I could run a six-something mile.
So I ran a 6:58 or something close to that, got my tracksuit,
and became an addicted Running Snob.

I ran obsessively throughout college, before our wedding,
and into our first months of marriage.

And then suddenly, I couldn't run. At all.
I would head out for a little three-miler and be sitting
on the side of the road five minutes into the run.

Long medical-story short, my body had suddenly started rejecting the foods
I had always eaten which left me without any energy to run.
Slowly and surely, I began to figure out which foods
I could consume and my running energy returned.

But my obsessiveness never came back.
I was happy to jog with Jared.
One mile, maybe two.
Until today, that is.
Today was my first day of training for the 5K Turkey Trot.

I ran by myself for the first time in a really long time.
I ran fast and far.
It was windy and cold.
My lungs burned and a giant yellow leaf slapped me in the face.
My legs feel like rubber and I kinda feel like throwing up.
But I also feel like I've been reunited with my long lost best friend.

I can't wait for tomorrow.
I sure hope Jared won't mind jogging with a Running Snob.