I ran 5 miles Saturday.

Prior to starting I’d say it was 50% nerves/fear I couldn’t do it and 50% excitement because I was pretty sure I could.  I don’t know why but the concept of running 5 miles has been stuck in my head since I started running.  Why this number? I couldn’t tell you.  I honestly don’t know.  But, for whatever reason, my mind has linked the ability to run 5 miles with being a “real runner”.

So I guess I became a real runner on Saturday.

It’s still incredibly surreal, made worse by the fact that the Garmin ate the work out in some strange freak accident.  I’m not sure what happened.  I mean, it tracked my entire work out, it put me through my paces the entire time.  It yelled at me when I went above my target heart rate zone in the final mile (which I did because I gave it my all on that final mile).

And then I got home and it was all like “What 5 miles?”

I would have liked to have seen the results.  I would love to have a chart to show you my five miles, displayed proudly for everyone to see.  I just don’t have that though and it’s sort of a crushing blow.  I’m trying not to be too upset about it but… yeah, I’m sort of upset.

Some details I can tell you about the run:  My pace varied between 12:00/mile and 13:00/mile.  The pace started out around 12:00/mile and then slowly rose upwards towards 13:00/mile the further I ran.  The final mile I pushed myself and even sprinted towards the end!  I burned 634 calories.  I didn’t catch my total time.  Bummer.

Another detail about the run?  I cried.  I cried and then it totally reminded me of this post by Angela at Oh She Glows.  When I originally read it I nodded solemnly at the part where she states her question “Have you ever cried during a run?”

I mean… I HAVE cried.  I cried during my 5k.  I cried because I was there doing something I never thought I’d do.  I cried because I was so proud of myself for being there, for having the courage, for starting this entire journey at all.

Today I cried for many of the same reasons.  It didn’t happen until about 1/4 mile into my last mile.  As I rounded a small bend I suddenly realized:  Hey, I’m going to run 5 miles today.  And then it hit me.. BLAMO… right solidly in the chest.  I was going to run 5 miles.  Me.  The girl who can’t run, who could never run.  Me, the girl who just used to wish to be able to run a single mile because it just seemed like something everyone should be able to do without feeling like they were going to die.


And once I started crying, the tears kept coming as I realized I hadn’t yet run 5 miles but there was absolutely nothing which would stop me from doing it.  I knew I could push myself to the finish.  I knew there was no way I’d quit.  I knew I’d go all the way.


And so I cried through so many emotions.  I cried through the pain of years spent hating my body.  I cried through the pain of years of people’s snide comments and thoughtless remarks.  I cried through the pain of so many past fitness failures.

And you know something?  The crying didn’t even slow me down.  I kept on going.  I pushed harder, made myself go faster, and eventually sprinted to the finish.

Me.  I did that.  I still sorta can’t believe it.