Push through
I was a poor distance runner most of my life.
No, that’s not quite right. I am a poor distance runner.
For most of my life, however, I always stopped running before the term “distance” could apply to what I was doing.
In a college physical education class, I had to log six miles of running each week. Three nights a week, my friend, Jay, and I went to the football stadium to run laps around the quarter-mile track. Neither one of us was in running shape when we started, so we did more walking than running.
But by the end of that semester, we could finish eight laps (two miles) around the track at a slow jog.
That’s as far as I could go. The sensation I got when running was that an iron cage was tightening around my chest and my lungs were turning to paper.
Over the next few years, I tried to take up running again as a New Year’s resolution. The weight gain I longed for in high...