I’ve never been scared to run. Running laps for hours or up hills with a teammate on my back was life, the norm… It was easy. Or you could say much easier then it is now. Soccer really made me think I was going to be fine all my life, that I wouldn’t ever struggle to go for a jog, I guess I thought I was a perma-athlete. Funny right. What, did I think my metablisom would kick ass forever? I never imagined my muscles disappearing, my abs getting weaker, or my arms being anything but toned. But here I am today pushing myself out the door to go on a run for the first time in months. I’ve been wanting to go so badly but I finally realized the only reason I haven’t yet is because I’m scared. I am scared to fail. The possibility of making it down the street and having to slow down or even worse, stop, scares the shit out of me… Because I’ve never known how that feels. That seems wrong to me, but it is what it is, and the only way to let go of that fear is embrace it for what it is and work to overcome it. So I’m in my muddy tennis shoes and underarmour ready to take the first step to self discovery and maybe my old body (inside and out). Its dumping outside but I think it’s beautiful. I’m doing my best to look on the bright side, maybe the rain will clean my muddy shoes so I wont have to?… Not too sure if that’s a rational thought but it makes me feel better so I’m going to run with it. Wish me luck dolls. Ps Let’s pretend I’m the girl running with the cheetah, she’s amazing. Just close your eyes and imagine me except now I’m African and have long luscious hair and I’m pure muscle. My ass cheeks defy gravity just like hers. Wouldn’t that be AWESOME??