efore I loved to run, I really hated it.
It was a necessary evil; I played basketball in high school. I loved the sport but I knew my future ambitions lay elsewhere. In the words of my beloved Coach John Royal, “It’s a good thing you’re an honor student, Reid!” The suicide drills and conditioning runs transformed giggly teenage girls into a team that sweated together and trusted each other and pushed their impossibly young bodies to be stronger. I understood the goal even if I detested the running part.
Since I was vaguely an athlete, I was asked to try out for the cross-country team. That lone, miserable mile in the blazing Florida heat was the last time I’d run on my own accord for nearly 10 years.
As I approached my 30th birthday, I decided it would be a good idea to run a 5K. No matter that I’d never managed to run more than a mile or two on a treadmill since that brutal day a decade before. In a slight panic, I noticed a new running group at the running store in my neighborhood.
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