This summer I discovered the need to prioritize my time (see 8 Things I Learned Fasting From Social Media).
One of the things I wanted to do was start jogging. (Don't worry, this isn't going to morph into a running blog where you continuously see the numbers 13.1 and 26.2.)
Once I was a dedicated runner. But then life happened: kids, career, blogging, volunteering, being a Christian, spending time on social media, turning 30, Big Bang Theory, a love for stationary, Shark Week, and Amish love novels. You get the picture.
But at the beginning of August, I decided to start jogging again.
Thirty minutes a day, every other day.
Distance and speed wasn't a concern (like I needed to worry about fartleks), but rather stacking days of thirty minute segments.
Progress was slow.
At times I felt like vomiting. Other times I thought death was around the corner.
But every other day for the month, I laced up my running shoes, started a 30 minute timer, and took off.
Something you should know is that I hate jogging with other people.
I like running by myself.
I don't like to be pushed when jogging. Nor do I like to push others.
My running mantra is "Be the tortoise." Men don't like to be the tortoise and typically it turns into an unofficial race.
