Running is Stupid, Ya'll.

Growing up, I hated running. There, I said it.

I hated anything physical, really, that didn't involve wheels. I spent a lot of time as a kid peddling all over the city of Mission Viejo, California, because it was my escape from reality. I could imagine this entirely different world, one where I was popular and not the chunky-butt kid that I was in real life.

Then, biking became a thing to do with my dad on the backstreets on Okinawa, Japan on Saturday mornings. We would get up at the crack of dawn, before the heat and humidity kicked our asses. I loved seeing my world at 15 mph, especially as an American girl in a foreign land. But in high school, I'd have rather set my hair on fire than run for P.E. or for fun. In my opinion, running was stupid.

Little did I know that, after Navy bootcamp, I would find my true escape in a pair of government-issued tennis shoes and shorts with netting in them. I didn't find it right away, mind you - I had never run before bootcamp, which was apparently some kind of cardinal sin or something - but once I hit my first duty station, there it was. Like an album I discarded, only to find later on in life...and the music still rocked.

I started as a treadmill runner, mostly because Korea is hilly, ya'll. And I was NOT ready for hills. Hills blew. Plus, I liked the idea of listening to the radio or a CD while I ran, and there weren't the awesome iPods of today to contend with. And it helped that there was almost always a sexy man jogging on the treadmill next to me that I could sneak glances at...or not so sneakily, and I could blame it on 'watching your form/breathing/technique' (aka pecs, ass, calfs...mmmm...).

For five years, running was my escape from whatever sucked in my life. Break-ups, bad jobs, bitch-bosses. For 30-60 blissful minutes, I couldn't even picture them, let alone face their grievances...I was too fucking tired from panting. I was a 6 to 6.5 mile per hour runner, which suited me well. I would generally do a 3 to 4 mile run, sometimes in the morning and again in evening...often running to Imperial Beach, California's boardwalk and back to my tiny apartment.

Then I moved to Florida and a lot of things happened all at once; I left the Navy, I started College, I quit smoking and I got married. But the one thing I didn't plan on - plantar fascitis in both feet - dropped me like a stone. It took a year of recovery (mostly because I couldn't make myself stay off my feet) and a very potent hurricane to make me leave running behind on a more permanent basis.

Until now.

Nine months ago, I woke up one morning in Hampton, Virginia and wondered - what the fuck am I doing? I'm stressed, I'm broke and I need to lose like 50 pounds! I dusted off my running shoes and set my first goal - a 10k for the Wounded Warriors Project in April 2010 - and I haven't looked back.

So here I am...20 pounds down, my 10K goal met, and a new, ballsy-ier goal in mind - the Rock 'n Roll 1/2 Marathon in Virginia Beach in September. I made an amazing friend, Jay, who is helping me develop my training plan, and I'm shooting for a two-hour finish.

I'm still a bit of a fat ass, but I'm trying to be a kick-ass fat ass. I really feel the whole 'if I can do it, anyone can' mentality, so I hope to meet other fat-ass newbie runners who will converse with me on issues, complaints, blisters, the best sports bra (I'm still searching on that one), etc...join me, will ya?