I have arrived

A few weeks ago someone on the Runner's World online forums asked the question "at what point do you consider yourself a runner?" Almost automatically I started firing off a response that was along the lines of "What are you talking about? I put my shoes on and I run. That makes me a runner." But I stopped myself. Up until that point I was still pseduo-making fun of myself for doing it. I took running seriously, but I couldn't be serious about it, if that makes any sense. I mean, let's face it. I'm a slow, fat girl who moves slightly faster than a walking pace. Ok, maybe that's harsh, but it's not far from the truth. I felt wrong - dumb, even - calling myself a runner.

But something has happened to me over the past few days. I knocked out my ten miler on Saturday and that was such an amazing accomplishment. Technically we were done at 9.96 miles, but I told the coach I was running with that I had 0.04 left and I wasn't stopping till my watch said 10.00. Granted, that only required me to run across the street, but wow! Looking down at my watch as it beeped to alert me to the 10th mile was amazing. While we were running, somewhere in our 6th or 7th mile, my coach asked me if I had heard what our group organizer said earlier that morning. Considering that I was late to the "meeting" part of our run (what else is new?) I hadn't. It turns out that he said that those of us who completed that day's 10 mile run would be just about gauranteed to make it to our race goals. The only reason we wouldn't make it would be due to injury...not because we are not capable of doing it. Is it true? I have no way of knowing until later this year, but heck - talk about motivation!

Anyway, I can say it now. I'm a runner. I may not be fast. I may not be a size 0. But I run more days than I don't, and that is an awesome, awesome feeling.