A few months ago, after years of thinking about it, I started running. I’ve always said that I couldn’t imagine anything more boring than running, but I’d never really done much. When I was on the tennis team in high school we used to have to run about a mile from the high school to the courts at West Junior High. Other than that, I think I’d run more than a mile only twice in my life – home from work in the late ’80s.

The first run I did in this modern era was on Halloween last year. It was 2.4 miles, out and back from my house. Since that distance is so short, and I’ve been cycling so much the last few years, that seemed like a reasonably easy run. But I just about died. I couldn’t actually go for more than about 1/4 mile before I’d have to stop and walk a bit. Still, I did actually go the whole distance, so it was a success.

After that, I decided to back off a bit and do runs in the 1.5 mile range. I also discovered that if I go at a really slow pace, I can keep going.

After that first run, I haven’t really needed to stop at any point. My average pace has been slowly climbing, and my average distance has also been increasing. I’ve now gone running 24 times in the last three months, racking up 60 miles. My longest run was 5 miles, and I’ve finished that 2.4 mile run a couple of times at a faster than 10 minutes per mile pace.

The other night, at my son’s Longmont Youth Symphony concert, there was a silent auction. One of the items was entrance for the BolderBoulder, a 10k race with 10’s of thousands of entrants. Admittedly, I’ve been thinking about running it this year, but now I’ve paid for it. I guess I’m committed.

So, is running boring like I thought it was? Well, I’m not really sure. It’s actually quite painful. Even going at what feels like a snail’s pace (relative to cycling, I suppose), I’m at my limit. I haven’t really had a chance to feel bored.

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