It's been an interesting, entertaining summer. I turned forty in June. Some interesting, entertaining people have come into my life from the strangest of places. What is most surprising to me though, is that something that started out as a way to get out of the house and have some time to myself has turned into a new hobby.
I've always hated exercise. Especially running. Something about it just rubbed me the wrong way. Maybe that rubbing was my thighs... but whatever the reason, I just didn't "get" why people would go out and just run - not to anything, or from anything... just ... running.
Since July, I've been racking up a few kilometres on my overpriced sneakers. It started as a stroll around my neighbourhood, without a real goal in mind. It used to take me about 30 minutes to do the three kilometre loop. When I began tracking my time, I found myself pushing to go faster and faster. It's become a game. I've cracked the 26 minute mark, and can actually run for 10 minutes without hacking up a lung.
It's now November, and I'm still interested. My father jokes that I've finally snapped my lazy bone - maybe he's right. Maybe it's the incentive of wanting to justify the newly purchased treadmill in my basement. Frankly, I don't care what it is. All I know is that this is the most I've done to take care of myself in a long time. And it feels really, really good.