I’m a few workouts into my training for the Run Like a Mother 5K in May. (Back story here.) I can’t really call it training because there is no plan other than to get on my shoes, get to the Y and run. (Okay…jog.) I’m not sure yet about pacing or warm ups or how many miles is a K, but what I do know is that I started. And I feel pretty darn okay.
I downloaded an embarrassing amount of Rihanna and Nicki Minaj for a woman my age, but the rhythm and youthful grrrrl power makes me feel strong and makes me want to keep going through to another song.
I love to people-watch as I run. The Y is such a melting pot of kids, families, adults and seniors. The moms hustle in with their kids, towels and swimsuits in tow ready for swim lessons. Little girls in tutus head downstairs for ballet class. Friends meet up in the lobby, ready to tackle a cycling or group exercise class together. Seniors stretch and chat, staying active and social well into the decades. People of all shapes and sizes show up to learn something new, be active, and hopefully get a little healthier.
This has helped so much in the early stages of my training. Even though I’ve been to the Y many times before, it was usually for work or to take my kids to class. When I walked in to work out I felt like an awkward 6th grader again. Were my clothes right? Which is the right treadmill? And how to I turn the stupid thing on? Can EVERYONE tell I don’t know what I’m doing? Ridiculous, I know.
Then I noticed that 1) no one was looking at me (should’ve remembered that from 6th grade), and 2) everyone around me was at differing stages of ability. But we were all there doing something. I was doing something. I’m certainly not putting myself in the athlete category, and I’m pretty certain that there was a 70-year-old woman on the track who could’ve lapped me, but I started. And it feels good.