A Running Mom

This is about how old I was when I started running.  11.  I remember feeling less than delighted with the state of my development.  And as the youngest of 10 children, with comments about fat, skinny and dieting, I thought a lot about how my body looked.  I became obsessed with my derriere.  It was too flat.  I know, that sounds ridiculous.  But my dad’s backside was about as flat as a wall.  And mine emulated his.  So to me, as a girl with a flat butt, this just wouldn’t do.  My sister had a running boyfriend at the time who jokingly said something like, “You know, all runners have great tusches.”  The rest is history.

That is why I started running.  True story.

Next time you see a kid like I was — you know, in the middle of becoming herself — don’t discourage her from taking up a new hobby.  Exploring a sport.  But maybe offer some kind word that has more to do with her strength or her great wit or her goal to do something.  Maybe then her story will seem a little less bizarre and will make more sense for why she started to run. 

May your next run be a good one.

Rebecca