I went for a run today.
I went for a run, without anyone chasing me, for the first time since, say . . . sixth grade.
And I didn't die. And I didn't think I was going to die while doing it (as in previous attempts to "run").
Helps that I've been walking three miles a day for a while. Helps that I've been walking for a year . . . even in the snow and the forty below.
The endorphins afterward are lovely. I can understand why people get obsessed. It makes you feel really, really good for about an hour or so. Of course, that may also be the lack of oxygen to my brain.
Plus, if I keep with it for more than a week, it's an excuse to buy more shoes.
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