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i have vivid memories of clutching my cramping ribs while i heaved during the 400m lap we had to do in memory of Terry Fox back in elementary school but on sunday i ran a 5km race!!!

growing up it felt like i was drafted to the position of being the designated kid who draws kinda OK so not being great at exercise or sports was at least congruent in getting that role. there were half hearted attempts at joining a soccer and baseball and even a tennis camp but for a number of reasons they never amounted to much. mostly though i think i just nerfed myself by refusing to eat vegetables until i moved out.

but even just last year around this time, long after i’d come to enjoy weightlifting and more importantly posture stretches to soothe my fused bones, i still hated running. i wouldn’t even really say that i love it now… but there’s this certain feeling that washed over me when i’d be done hitting the pavement at 6am (which is on the later side compared to some of the おじいさんs i catch a glimpse of as i warm up my legs), and there’s a certain, younger version of myself —who would’ve rather ate lead than do the beep test— that i wanted to prove something to. not in a patronizing way or anything mean like that. more in a soothing one. to tell her that there is something on the other side of that chasm of cramps and heaving.

i was hoping to hit a 6km/hr pace since i’d been teetering between 32-34 minute 5Ks when i was training, and while I still PR’d i fell short like 30 seconds. so naturally this frustrated me. i called my dad to complain, and he started talking about how he was worried about having to match that pace when we run together, and i thought it was funny that neither of us would just be proud of the fact that we were out there running to begin with. i was able to clam down after that 🐚