The guy next to me on the treadmills last night asked why I was taking a picture of my machine at the end of my run.
“This is the farthest I have ever gone, so I wanted to document,” I told him.
I was immediately embarrassed when I said that, since three miles is basically a warm-up for actual runners, not to mention less than a quarter of my half marathon goal. But then I started thinking about my old workout routine, which consisted of telling myself that walking two blocks to Panera would counteract eating a bagel the size of my head and an accompanying trough of cream cheese. (I have a theory that Panera’s business strategy from 2002-2006 involved putting a tracker on my car and building stores at each major shopping center I frequented.) The 170-lb. college Heather couldn’t even run for a minute straight, and I could have counted the number of times I exercised in college on one of my pudgy bagel mitts.
So yeah. I’m proud of my three miles.