This last Monday I ran a 15-k out on the streets. Up until now all of my training for my half-marathon was on a treadmill. It's hard to run outside when you don't know the area that well and all of the distances are in Spanish (okay they're in kilometers, which are as foreign to me as Spanish). I finally found some people to run with and took off for a jaunt through town. Running on the streets in Xela is an interesting experience, filled with pot-holes and fast cars. I sucked in a lot of exhaust from the buses, which doesn't actually help you run faster, and saw a dead dog on the side of the road. Once we reached the edge of town the run improved. The scenery changed from Burger Kings and hospitals to beautiful farm country with the Volcano Santa Maria looming in the distance shrouded by clouds. The roads cleared a little bit and the hills we'd been climbing flattened out, but then it started to rain. If you ever want to feel hard-core, really manly, go run a hill and then watch everyone else hide under shelter as the rain starts to turns to hail and you push through it. After completing the 15-k in the rain, I've decided I'm going to be able to run the half-marathon. Knowing I have the ability to run 13.1 miles still doesn't tell me how I mutated from the boy who couldn't run a mile to the man I am now.
I think God has something to do with it. He changed me so I could enjoy physical activities at a semi-competitive level again. I know the change didn't happen over night. It was slow and has taken a lot of effort on my part. I've had a lot of setbacks. I've gotten a few migraines, but I've decided to push through. That is why when I run the half-marathon in Coban in two weeks I will be thanking God at every mile. I might still feel like the boy who couldn't run a mile and always stood shamefully next to his PE teachers while the rest of the guys ran the mile, but He has blessed me with the legs to run and the body to endure and I'm rather grateful for that.