I write this as a memoir as I know that 40 years from now, I will be complaining of arthritic knees and ankles, rebuking the rainy afternoon that adds on to the pain, and cursing my years of running that brought it on. I must remember the passion, the comfort and the peace that the sport gave, and for that I write the following stats:

Years running: 10
Pairs of running shoes: 20
Total approximate miles: 8,400!
Half-marathons: 4
15K's: 2
10K's: 3
5K's: 2
Pregnancies: 2 (up until my fifth month)
States: California, Nevada, Washington, Oregon, Arizona, Texas, Oklahoma, New York, Florida, and Hawaii
Countries: USA, Mexico, France, and Italy

Jogging Strollers: 2

Treadmills: 2

I started running in college because I tended to hang out with the athletes, and got very bored when they were practicing, not to mention, the competitor in me felt very inadequate hanging out with the athletes without actually being one. Lame excuse to start up a hobby, but all things originate from some motive, and that happen to be mine.
My love affair began shortly thereafter, when my miles increased from one daily to five daily. Running was cheaper than any type of counseling, and while dealing with the death of one of my closest friends and heroes (Dad), it was the easiest way to think, sort, pray, and grieve. I could run anywhere, any vacation, trip associated with work, or home we resided in, I lace up my shoes and run. I am forever grateful for the benefits it has given me, and now I am so proud that Carter thinks it's a normal part of the day. I can only hope and pray that my body holds up for many years to come, Lord knows my sanity needs it!