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I have never really felt like a real runner. I have always just been a mildly overweight and slightly insecure girl who would occasionally have a "get fit" or "loose weight" phase. This is when I would attempt to drag my screaming, protesting body around the block (about 5 minutes after I had started, my lungs would be failing me and my face would be blood red - I would then have to walk much of the way home again!)
I have never really felt like a runner, that is, until today. Today I ran a ten kilometer race! This is the furthest I have ever run, (ever) and I feel supremely proud of myself. But let me start at the beginning. It seems that I have always wanted to run a half-marathon, specifically the Two Oceans half-marathon, but I have never, ever been able to get there. I have not been able to motivate myself past that point, a few weeks into training, when the first fresh excitement of a great new idea dies but the dedicated passion of a true lover of the sport has not yet been born. This is the point were you are no longer excited about the fact that your muscles are still screaming and you're still getting a stitch five minutes into your run - it feels like you will never get there so why not just curl up with a nice book?! After all there is that one tiny cloud in the sky - it could rain and you don't want to get the flu!
However, this time it was different. It started with a 5 km race that I had done no training for and the next thing I knew I was running 10 kays…well, not quite - it did take seven weeks of training to get there! Those seven weeks passed rather quickly, and before I knew it race day had arrived. In order to mentally prepare myself for the big day, I had bought a pretty new outfit to wear. You know, those running outfits made out of that special material that wicks away moisture so that you stay dry, not that this would make one stitch of difference to whether or not I could survive the run!
My day began early (very, very early.) As I dragged myself out of bed, bleary eyed and stumbling, I began to wonder why exactly I wanted to do this. Nevertheless, I persevered and by the time I had had a shower and had put my new outfit on, I was feeling much better. I was making sure that I had hydrated (by drinking lots of fluids) but the problem with this was that about 10 minutes before the race began I was bursting for the toilet. Off I when to find a loo - the only ones they had were those horrible, smelly porta-potties. I was starting to feel a little like a real runner now (but not enough of one that I would just go behind a bush like all the hard-core runners seem to do!)
However, disaster struck when I actually started to run. My leg muscles started to burn (probably because I hadn't actually warmed up properly!) and I was really, really beginning to regret deciding to do this - it just seemed so far. It was only in the last two miles that I started to enjoy myself and I remembered why I was doing this. I made it!
As I wobbled over the finish line, I heard my name called over the PA system (wow, I must be famous!!) I had done it! I made it to the end, and I wasn't even the last one to finish! As I stood there surrounded by the bustle of happy people (and the whiff of runner smell) I was a real runner.
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