And at some point during the course of my apartment-hood I decided that I would start jogging.
I had a neat little Couch to 5K application on my iPhone that fueled my fire and sure enough I started jogging 3 times a week.
And before I knew it I had worked myself up to 3 miles. THREE miles.
Now I know three miles isn't all that much, but for someone who lists her extracurricular activities as "reality television watching" three miles was like climbing my very own little Mt. Everest.
I got into a routine and hitting the treadmill three times a week just became apart of who I am.
I even referred to myself as a "jogger."
A little bit of pride may have been involved.
People would ask me what I planned on doing when we moved into a home and I no longer had a free treadmill and I would laugh at them.
Psh, didn't they know I was a jogger now? I didn't need a treadmill I could conquer the great outdoors. I laughed at the thought of running outside. Easy schmeasy.
And then I moved into our home and a month passed before I attempted jogging.
And then one fateful Tuesday afternoon while driving home from work I decided that it was a beautiful day and it was worthy of a good jog.
"An easy three miles" I thought.
And then I jogged in my new neighborhood.
Full of hills.
With wind gusts close to that of an Oklahoma tornado.
With dirt blowing in my eyes.
And dogs growling at me looking at me like I would make a tasty snack.
And people driving by me almost running me over.
And one man passing me 3 different times, even though I tried to change my course so that I wouldn't have to face the humiliation of barely scooting by him while he ran past me like he was in a flipping marathon.
And the friendliest people in the world driving by me all waving as they drove by, and me trying my best to lift my arm to give a simple wave when all I wanted to do was lie down and cry.
At one point I was pretty sure I was going to die and the only thing that kept me going was the fact that I now refer to myself as a jogger and I had something to prove.
Even though the speed that going would never qualify as a jog. In fact it might be considered a leisurely stroll.
So I am afraid that my days as a jogger are now over and I need to go back to being a cookie connoisseur and reality TV show watcher.
Sometimes we just have to accept our callings in life and go with it.
Please excuse me while I enjoy a funfetti cookie and some Dancing with the Stars.
It's what I'm best at.