I started running when I was 32 years old. My relationship with exercise had been tumultuous since the very first time I ran a lap in elementary school. The only thing I did faster than the other kids was loose my breath and burn out. It didn’t matter if it was running “The Mile”, playing flag football, basketball, or running bases- I could not keep up. “The Mile” was pure torture for me; huffing and puffing, out of breath and coming in dead last every time. My PE coaches would holler “encouragement” and when I would come in crying and unable to catch a breath, becoming hysterical from panic, they would tell me to walk it off.

I was (and still am) short for my age. I thought the reason I had to work harder than everyone else was because my legs were short and that the harder work caused me to burn out fast. Over time, I began to stop trying so hard. I did not like the feeling of being out of breath so I always exercised at a level just close to losing my breath.

When I started losing my breath at random times, like watching TV or doing homework, I was diagnosed with having anxiety attacks. That diagnosis came from that fact that by the time I would tell anyone there was an issue I was in a full on hysteria of panic. I recall once running in circles through my house crying and holding my chest- I couldn’t even say what was wrong.

Through high school and adulthood, I continued exercising just below losing my breath, never giving that extra push and always being a little overweight. I lost some weight when my marriage and our business were falling apart simultaneously and I decided I wanted to keep it off, so I joined a gym. I barely looked at the cardio equipment, I would only walk on the treadmill or use a stationary bike.

When our business was closed and my marriage was basically ended, I struggled with the question of “who am I?” Even though I was still living in the house with my husband and two children, he was already moving on, dating and finding some happiness that I didn’t feel he deserved. It was hard for me to grasp and I felt empty and sad all time. I hated being in that house. I hated seeing him happy while I suffered. I always wanted to get out and be away, to just run away from it all. I started taking walks at night after the kids were in bed and the house was quiet and full of just him and me. One night I started to run, literally, away from that house and all the difficulty it held for me.

I didn’t make it farther than three houses away before I couldn’t breathe. I knew I was out of shape when it came to cardiovascular exercise from all the years of avoidance, but I liked the way it felt to do something I hadn’t dared to do in many years. I kept trying night after night to run away. But night after night I was sidelined before I even reached the end of my street- which was only seven houses from mine. After two weeks, I decided that there was no way that I could be that out of shape and I went to the doctor. Turns out that for 25 years I have thought I was too short to exercise efficiently, out of shape and prone to anxiety attacks when in actuality, I have asthma. I work in the medical field, and I admit that I did suspect asthma was the culprit, but there were so many years of the other “reasons” ingrained in my head that I never took action to find out for sure. Once I got educated (and got an inhalor) I started pushing past all those old mind sets and began running for real.

Four months after I began running, I moved out. Six months after I began running I ran my first, second, and third 5Ks. A full year later, I run three to four times a week in addition to hiking and trail running. As a result, I have released over 20 pounds of excess weight, and inspired friends and coworkers to begin running as well.

When I started running I thought it was to run away from something, but I've come to realize that I was actually running toward something- my future. My new life. The new me.