Just about a year ago I got woken up by two events that happened fairly close together. They seem small and insignificant but, in a way, they've lead me here, wanting to put words on the screen.
I've always considered myself reasonably fit. Never fast, but fit enough that I could say I was. I rode my bike. I ran. I went to the gym. I did a few cross country ski races. I did a marathon.
So around last year I was minding my own business, watching the kids run around the field while my wife ran one of the local 5 Peaks Races outside of town. It was a wonderful day and the kids were being fairly well behaved, running around a tree chasing each other, as I waited for the crying to begin.
Then the man at the picnic table beside where I was standing moved to chat. He was in his running gear, with his wife getting ready beside him.
"So, are you a runner?"
"No, I'm just looking after the kids. I haven't run in quite some time"
I was a bit surprised at my answer. I had never ever considered myself a non-runner. But it was pretty easy for my mind to fill in all the excuses I had for not running.
But then he turned his back.
He didn't have an answer. He didn't nod knowingly. He turned away and started to stretch, there being more value to doing that than talking to a non-runner.
I felt the same as if he had suddenly punched me in the face and knocked me over. Defeated. Shocked. And then I suddenly felt out of shape.
A couple of days later I stepped on the scales. 199 lbs. The same feeling again. I wasn't going to let myself get to 200.
At the time I didn't know how I got into the state I was in but I wasn't going to have any more of it. I was going to get back into something resembling shape. I was going to show my kids that Dad does more than work on a computer.
The rest of this blog is going to be about cycling, running, being a Dad, and the slow guy of the bunch.
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