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Pounding Asphalt

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Last Saturday, I ran a 5K. To many, this may seem like no big deal. To me, it was huge. You see, for quite some time, I’ve had it on my bucket list to run a half-marathon. But, as with most seemingly impossible goals, stuff kept getting in the way. Some of it was good stuff like my two precious pregnancies, but a lot of it was fear. 13.1 is a big number when it means miles beneath your running shoes. 13.1 means I’m running for two hours straight. TWO HOURS. I can think of only three things I can do for two hours straight, reading and eating and sleeping, all of which, you’ll notice, don’t require much in the way of movement {except for eating with my dear girlfriends which is usually accompanied by an insane amount of laughter, especially when Melody is involved.}
But last Saturday, I finished step 1 to my half-marathon. I ran the 5K in 29.45. I pushed myself and I felt great after. A few hours later, I told Matt that there’s something positively intoxicating about setting a goal that seems insurmountable and then turning around weeks later to realize you’re doing it. You’re actually doing it. My goal is still a long way off, but I’m getting there. One mile at a time, one foot pounding asphalt after another…


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