My affinity for picking up my legs and turning them over in rapid succession began in 5th grade when I first ran the Bolder Boulder 10K, a road race in Boulder, Colorado (yes, the hippy place) that draws upwards of 50,000 people annually to race and even more to view the Memorial Day ceremony. In Colorado, we make spectacles out of people going from point A to point B really fast and spend our free time running around at elevations that pierce the clouds and put us closer to God (not really, but we are blessed naturally). Unsurprisingly this harbors a running culture that creates a competitive environment and welcoming community. Personally, running has been something I have never really been able to shake off. My dad introduced me to this passion at an early age and people like Bannister and Webb became household names. Even through rough patches, I always came back to the sanctuary that running provided.
I remember going to school the day after my first Bolder Boulder, which I reluctantly trudged through with my sister and dad, and being made fun of because my already off kilter stride was made more obvious during recess by my sore legs. Since Kindergarten, my P.E. Teacher, who we called Ms. G and who to this day is still the most influential educator in my life, had been trying to fix my pigeon toe foot strike and awkward running form. To put it bluntly she taught me how to walk correctly. I had a size 14 foot before I was 14, so you can imagine the process of learning how to run with the equivalent of skis. I was also exposed to basketball early, but my hoop dreams faded after middle school when I realized that height doesn’t automatically make you a good player. Running, however, was an outlet for my flailing limbs to be put to good use. In 6th grade I started running track, and found it rather enjoyable. I even threw the discus because my string
Running’s not the only thing that runs in the family.
bean arms were like whips. My best friend on that team, a sprinter at the time who converted to distance in high school, is still my friend to this day. For high school, I made the long journey across the street to join a family I will never leave.
My running career has been like a hike up a 14er (a mountain over 14,000 feet in elevation for you coastal folk), middle school was a hill I easily reached the top of, but once I saw over it, there was another summit, and the path was not straight or smooth. While I made varsity as a freshman, my trajectory did not continue at the rate I had anticipated. My dad, a successful high school runner himself, did not worry. I had three more years of training and racing to make my mark, and I was determined to continue the grind.
This is Part I of a series on my life as it pertains to my passion of running.
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