I married a runner. I knew it when we met – he had the race t-shirts to prove it. My husband is rather tall and lanky. I like to say he has little wind resistance when he runs because he’s so thin. And while he’s not quite ready for a BQ (that’s a Boston Qualifying time), he is rather speedy.

The first few years of dating and marriage didn’t really allow him much running time. Busy jobs and eventually having kids took up time and energy. He’d run occasionally but the old habit never fully flourished until recently.

This fall he had the time….scratch that – he made the time…to get back into serious running. Since September he’s run two 5Ks, two half marathons, and one insane 10 mile trail course (complete with hills and a river to run through!).

Soon after he finished his first 1/2 (at Disney in January), I started toying with the idea of running. Maybe it was the thrill and excitement at the Disney race. Maybe it was watching him a full of endorphins and happy at the end of the race. Certainly the nice bling of a shiny medal was tempting. But something about that experience and cheering from the sidelines made me think more and more about running.

For the record – I’m still not sure there are two runners in our family.  My husband is a runner. Me – for right now – I consider myself to be a “former non-runner”. I hope with a few more hundred miles under my feet that I’ll move to thinking of myself as a runner too.