When I was growing up, we had physical fitness tests twice every school year. Part of these tests included a timed 1-mile run. From 4th grade through 10th grade, I remember always dreading “running the mile”. It was such an embarrassing experience, even though I’m sure I’m the only one who cared about my time. I hated being among the last kids to cross the finish line. Always. I could only ever run part of it and had to walk the rest, and my time was always one of the slowest ones in my class. Running the full mile without walking was something only the more athletic kids could do, and my entire life I’ve had this mental block telling me that I’m too weak to run a full mile.
But I ran 1 mile today.
At 6 am.
And my running buddy Nadia told me this: