As I walked back from the Bellamy building in the late afternoon sun – the sweltering heat beating down upon me – I noticed two things: I wasn’t hardly breaking a sweat and I climbed a relatively steep campus hill without so much as a lick of effort. It is truly amazing what a mere 6 weeks of running can do to the human body.

I fully admit to having self esteem issues when it comes to my overall weight.  I used to cover up my hideous fat with over-sized clothes, mostly black for it is slimming, but I once got to a weight where I felt comfortable in more form-fitting tops.  Even sleeveless stuff. And then… I had kids. As any mom can tell you, your body is no longer the same once the little leech has taken up residence for 9-10 months then vacated the premises, leaving this deflated baby sack of fat and goo. Your body then rearranged its physiology and you’re not the same… ever again.

But the running, oh the running. The first week was hell. I mean, if there was something worse than hell, that’s really what it was. I gutted it out, those first horrific miles. I skipped the big hill and cut through a very flat stretch of sidewalk. I ran until I thought I’d pass out and then walk for 6-7 sidewalk cracks before pushing myself further. Weeks passed, I was consistent in running every other day, even if it was 95 degrees at 5 PM because that was the only window I could squeeze in the work-out. My ankles hurt, I experienced shin splints for the first time. I sweat. I ached. I got better.

Almost seven weeks later I can run 4 miles, which may not seem like a lot but considering my lack of workout for the past year and then some, well, it’s amazing. And the thing is, I haven’t once thought about quitting. I used to be the kind of person who would give up pretty easily. Ok, well, I guess I changed in my twenties: became more loyal and determined. I have carried this over to my running and have even found pleasure in the solitude, the gradual building up of my muscles and bones, my body shaping itself into some kind of form unlike my pudgy mid-twenties or my post-pregnancy self. This post makes me self-conscious of sounding like I put a lot of stock in appearance. For the most part, I don’t. But I need to be healthy and I want to be rid of this gut I was left with after the kids.

It may sound vain but I want to go someplace tropical in October 2011 and I’d love to feel comfortable in a bathing suit. Miles and miles to go.

Behold: the playlist