I have not run regularly in almost eight years.
Wow. Until I counted it all up just now, I hadn’t realized that much time had passes since I’ve been a runner. Eight years ago, I ran a lot. A lot. Eighty plus mile weeks, twice a day workouts, weight training, cross training. I was a collegiate runner, and my world revolved around running. All I did was run. Well, run and eat and sleep. It seemed totally normal to me. My family was filled with runners, all my friends were runners, and I loved it.
Then, I sort of stopped. It wasn’t intentional. There wasn’t an injury or burn-out. I graduated college, got a job, met non-runners. After work, instead of logging miles, I’d lounge on outdoor patios of restaurants with happy hour specials that included truffle fries. On weekend mornings, I’d sleep till noon and catch matinees rather than compete in pre-dawn races. I became an ex-runner.
And, really, I loved it. I had all my toenails, could stay out past 10 PM, had things to talk about at parties other than training and racing.
I want to run again. I want to race again, and, if possible, race well, without letting running take over my life. So begins 22 in 20. 20 miles a week, no more, with a 5k goal time under 22:30.
I used to be fast. And I’ve eight years of lost time to make up for. Here I go.