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The Slowest Runner

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I’m the most non-athletic athlete you’ll ever meet. I don’t lift weights. I don’t do hundreds of sit-ups. I cannot do a single pull-up — not one. I can maybe manage 10 push-ups or so, until my arms will no longer cooperate, and I will inevitably collapse into a pathetic pile on the floor.

With all this though, something unnerving has started happening during the past year of quarantine. I have started running. You might be thinking to yourself right now: oh, no, another post about a middle-aged woman who started running and discovered herself, blah blah, yawn, where is my iced latte…? Allow me to offer some relief — although I am firmly bumping up against middle age (my older child is about to start high school), I have not discovered myself through running. Sigh. I have not come to any sort of deep realizations by running. I have not found the higher power; I have not become “woke;” I did not come to appreciate the depths of the universe.

To back up for a minute, I want to define what I mean by “running.” My running is very very slow. I am the slowest runner you will ever see. I won’t bore you with pace times (mine is roughly 7 min. 25 sec./km), but believe me when I say that what I consider “running,” most people can achieve by simply walking quickly down the cereal aisle. Let me paint a picture. Imagine you’re in the grocery store with two kids and a full cart that you have been filling up for the past hour with all the........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)

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