I have never been a runner. Even when I was young and thin and cute, I was never any good at running. But I tried to be.
My first two years of high school gym class consisted of trips to the track three days a week throughout most of the year. We had to run or walk a mile -- four laps total. I would push myself to run two laps straight before walking the rest.
Sometimes I'd get really masochistic and run the last half lap, too. This probably wasn't the best idea for me considering I was living in a house with toxic mold at the the time, which I later learned was the cause of my many respiratory infections and my current state of lung damage. But smart or not, I still did it.
Out of my adventures in high school gym class I learned two things: I hate running, and I can walk forever. I am a walker by nature and have stuck to this path for many, many years now.
So, you can imagine my thoughts when Paul tells me I have to run on the treadmill during my Wednesday training session. In the words of my tween daughter (which she stole from some tweeny TV show), "You say what now?"
