So here’s the thing. If you asked me 10 years ago (or five years ago or three months ago) if I would ever consider running, I would have laughed. A lot. I’m out of shape, I’m overweight, and I have a hard enough time finding bras that fit my busty form for everyday wear, let alone something that would hold up against a three mile run (or even a marathon!). Runners are six feet tall and svelte, not 5’3″ and curvy (on a good day) or rotund (on a bad one).
I never even considered the possibility that running is about training.
Running is about persevering.
Running is about persistence.
In a way, it was all my best friend Elspeth’s fault. She started training for the Chicago Marathon last January (and finished the marathon a week ago!) to raise money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. Elspeth has always been an athletic person, but I never thought of her as athletic, because we never did athletic things together, because the extent of my athleticism was playing softball for one season my freshman year of high school.
Seeing this person I had known since I was nine years old transform herself into someone who could run 26.2 miles (without collapsing like poor Pheidippides) was unreal and really, really cool.
All of a sudden, I wanted to do it too.
I chose the name “curvaceous runner” because of something Elspeth said: that even when I lose weight (as I’m planning to do while running), I’ll always be curvy.
Because let’s face it: runners aren’t all six feet tall and svelte.