I used to be a runner. This sounds hilarious said out loud, coming from me. I have not run in about three years, at all. When I stopped running, it was because I was in school full time, working full time, was the single parent of a Kindergartner and no longer had time for a half hour leisurely jog.
A year and a half later, I had lost fifteen pounds and my doc said “Don’t run again until you’ve gained at least ten pounds” I’d been absent from the sport for so long, obeying was easy. As my free time has opened and my weight has increased, I still haven’t made the move towards running. I’m three pounds shy of my prescribed weight goal.
I cannot wait any longer. I’m running.
I promise to eat sticks of butter and eat 10,000 almonds.
I don’t know why this hit me right now, but it did. I used to run 20-30 miles a week and my health was great and I wore pants a size larger than I do now. Also, I miss running. I’m ready to restart our relationship. If he’ll take me.
The Pilver 
I’ve always admired people who can do it. I can work out heavily several times a week indoors, doing everything from weight lifting to treadmills to spinning, and all that. But running outdoors is just something I can’t swing. I guess it’s the heat and humidity around here, but the thought of being out in that sun, running non-stop just sounds like hell to me. Plus, wherever you’ve run to, there you are. It’s not like you can hop back in your car and drive home.
I dunno. It’s the one thing I’m a big wuss about. I can’t hack it. But, if you can do it and you enjoy it, well, just another thing that makes you badass.
I will not be bad ass when I start. I imagine I’ll make it about two blocks before having to start walking again.