My sister is a runner.
I’m going to let that sink in there for a moment.
My. Sister. Is. A runner.
My sister has never been athletic. In school she would struggle to run even one lap in PE class. She never played any sports. We figured out why a few years ago. In her early thirties, she had to have open-heart surgery to correct some pretty nasty heart defects she was born with that went undiagnosed FOR-EV-ER. And while her cardiologist has encouraged her to exercise now, it’s never something she had any experience with. After she was cleared by her doctor a couple of years ago, I pushed her into joining me in my running. Christmas and birthday gifts were cute running skirts and her membership and training paid for.
I was such a newbie runner. I thought I could change the world if I just got everyone I knew to run.
I learned (not so quickly) that I couldn’t run those races for anyone but me. I couldn’t want health for someone more than they wanted it themselves.
So, I gave up. I decided that I wouldn’t ask anyone again to come join me in a run. I decided to just run.
OK, I am an unapologetic, obnoxious post-workout selfie machine. I don’t compose them or do some strange pose, but I have been guilty of a 5 am post to scream “GOOD MORNING?” to my friends. Mostly I do it because my life is pretty boring otherwise and because I can’t stand all the negative stuff on social media. So I fill it with my goofy photos, my exhausted photos, my “ I seriously need to find better hair products because there is no way hair is supposed to look that crazy” photos. People are welcome to like, comment, unfollow or unfriend me as they see fit.
But something magical happened. My sister, who doesn’t exercise, quietly signed up to walk a 5K with a friend from work. And then she did it again. And again. And apparently she began to have fun.
And then one night at our family dinner, I mentioned that I had won an auction for a weekend in New Orleans with entries to the Crescent City Classic 10K and somehow, I don’t know, it just happened… I asked if she wanted to go do it too. “But I only walk,” she said. “That’s ok, I hear it’s just a six mile parade of drunks unless you’re an elite, anyway,” I said.
So, we’re heading to NOLA for beignets and a 10K!
But fast forward to a random club race in January, my daughter was going to do the 5K. Erica said she would stay close to her and I cautioned Emma Grace on running too fast and not letting Auntie Erica keep her in sight. By some miracle, Erica managed to generally keep up with Emma Grace. But this crazy seven year old showed my sister that it was possible to run just a little bit and walk when tired and cross the finish line faster than she had before.
Six weeks later, my sister is officially a bad ass. She has more determination than ever that she will run-walk her way to the finish line of the 10K. A little birdie may have suggested that she was eyeing a (gasp!) half marathon.
While I was running, I thought no one was watching.
But apparently they were, because my sister is a runner.