I’m Allison, and most days, I love to run. It all started in fourth grade when I wanted to make the club soccer team, and the try-outs required everyone to be able to run a mile. So, my mom sent me out with my older sister to run out half a mile from our house and turn around. I’m pretty sure I made it about 200 yards before I was on the ground (seriously) whining about a cramp. Keep in mind, I was an active fourth grader, regularly riding my bike or playing soccer. 200 yards, or even a mile for that matter, was certainly not an impossible feat.
I assume I figured out how to run a mile because I made the team and life was good. Except for that time my mom French braided my hair in pigtails for a soccer tournament, and I got a really bad sunburn on the part.
My relationship with running has grown and changed since fourth grade, as all good 17 (16? 18? how old are you in fourth grade?) year long relationships do. If you’re interested, stick around and let me regale you with tales from my past (if only to convince you that you too can go from crying on the ground (it’s happened more than once…) to running a mile and beyond) as well as tales from my current running story.