The First Half Mile
I had my son snap this picture with my camera phone on Sunday.
It might look like nothing much. Just me, making spaghetti.
But I felt the need to save this moment for posterity.
Because maybe half an hour prior to making the spaghetti, I finished running half a mile. All at once, not broken up with walking. In all, I went two miles that evening, including the half mile run and about a quarter mile of sprinting in spurts.
Half a mile is a big deal to me. In January, I could just barely walk half a mile. The idea of running at all (even at the barely-faster-than-a-walk pace I run at) was ludicrous. And this week, on Sunday, I’ll go a little further. Maybe three-quarters of a mile? Maybe just one more one-ninth of a mile lap. I don’t know.
I do know that running a half a mile felt like some kind of epic body vs. mind battle. And that I spent the last half unsure if I could make it. And that I was still grinning like a fool as I made dinner for my kids when I got home.
Someday a half mile will not feel like such an accomplishment. And maybe that me vs. me battle will be reserved for three miles, or five, or ten. Or a marathon. But this is a milestone, too, and I’m totally owning it.
I also know that in the last 10 months, I’ve gone from my treadmill shutting me down 10 minutes into a 2.5 mph walk to being able to run for half a mile. I’ve gone from not being able to do a single assisted pullup to doing 3 sets of 10. I’m stronger and fitter. And I still weigh the same as I did in January, nearly to the ounce.
I’ll be 40 on October 28. I’m going to run a mile that day. It’s my birthday present to myself. Stay tuned!