Four bright orange pylons were set up in a square on the blacktop. The goal was to run as many times around the square as possible in a set amount of time. A specific number of laps equaled the minimum necessary to pass the Presidential Test. I seem to remember having a hard time because of the crowding - I'd run on the outside, therefore running a longer distance than those crowded in the inner portion.

I counted my laps, and was nearing the end. Ten feet from the final pylon that would signify the minimum distance for a pass, the P.E. teacher tooted her whistle. She shrugged her shoulders at me.

I had failed.

The next year, I completed the number of laps that would have been required if I were a year younger. Sure, that was okay, but since we had advanced a grade, the requirement was an even faster run.

Again, I passed all the other tests. I far exceeded the requirements. But I failed the running test.

Once I got to junior high, the running test was a mile.

Interestingly, the number of pull-ups to pass dropped. "It is because junior high girls have breasts" we were told. Indeed, I no longer far exceeded the requirements for the Presidential Medal. My body was taller, heavier, and slower. (And yet I was part of a performing division in dance, so was in the studio three hours a day; I shouldn't have been considered out of shape.)

Running the mile was torture. Usually we warmed up with a single lap around the field. But for Presidential Fitness we had to do eight lengths of the track, turning around at a pylon in a mob that meant some of us ran longer, just like in elementary school.

I completed the mile, that was not a problem. But I definitely felt slow, and it wasn't very fun. I didn't like how there were people who ended so much sooner than I did. I was about 30 seconds too slow to meet the Presidential Level, if I remember correctly.

No Presidential Medal for me. Again.

"Don't worry, you are built for distance, not speed" the P.E. teacher consoled me, while I thought to myself, "Isn't a mile distance?"

In high school, I laughed as a good chunk of my friends did cross-country. NO WAY would I do that. Running is the thing I cannot do.

Of course, flash forward twenty years and I've been doing running intervals. As you recall, the first time I attempted what seemed to be a measly 90 second run, my lungs died on me. The concept of running even a mile seemed ridiculous.

I wondered how I had thought I had totally failed in junior high when I ran a little over an eight-minute mile (or was it nine?) and yet now I was hearing people talk about how they really wish they could run that "fast."

Oh, and a few years ago we did a "family fun run" and my time is posted for the world to see: 13:39 for a one-mile run. But here is the thing: when the race began, the Cat freaked out. He was nervous and no longer wanted to run. So I had to pause to convince him it would be fun. And then there was a stop sign in the middle of the course, so we had to pause both "coming" and "going" to make sure we weren't going to get crushed. The Cat was five and I was not used to running, so I guess 13:39 wasn't horrifically bad. As it turns out, I was in the middle of the pack time-wise, which is quite surprising. (Then-two-year-old Splig ran the course in froggy rainboots in 22:18)

During that fun run, I just had to shake my head as I saw the "real" runners do the one-mile as "warm-up" for either of the two "real" races: 3 miles and 10K. NEVER, NO WAY, NO HOW. I couldn't do that. (No, I don't know why they didn't call it 5K and 10K: couldn't they find an extra .1 mile to tack onto the 3 mile course?)

Well, never say NEVER.

Last week, I "ran" my first 5K. Sure, the course I run/walk on regularly is 2.7 miles, but I've never done the full 3.1 miles.

I was nervous because the longest I had run without walking recently was 16 minutes. I surpassed that during the 5K, but am uncertain as to exactly when I slowed to a brisk walk. Although I had set up my little tracking device on my phone, I turned one program off mid-run accidentally, and then forgot to turn off the other until much later in the day, so the data was useless.

I know I ran at least 1.5 miles without stopping. I turned around at the mile marker (while those going for extra credit - like Ms. Kristen Chase Awesome Skinny Woman - continued to run.) I ran several minutes in the opposite direction before deciding to do a brisk walk. My legs became heavy and jello as I slowed, so I immediately realized I probably should have continued running. Still, I walked quickly, and when Ms. Awesome-Bod-But-She-Earned-It Chase returned, I jogged with her until she picked up her pace again. I did another couple intervals of walking and running and successfully made it back to the hotel.

I was elated.

My lungs were clear, but didn't burn.

My legs were a bit jello'y, but not as bad as I would have thought.

I felt alive.

But I still haven't gotten a darn medal. There are a few "official" races out there, so I'm not stopping running just because BlogHer is over. I have my eye on getting an actual medal for running - even if I am in last place (but obviously paced fast enough to officially finish, avoiding the golf cart of shame*) - because I owe it to that elementary school kid who desperately wanted one, but who thought running could never be her "thing."

Thank you to all who ran last Friday morning - and for PhatMommy who organized everything along with the fabulous sponsors. I really felt welcomed during the run even though I am not a "real runner." I love that there were women of all shapes, sizes, and paces. I was proud that I didn't die and I look forward to another official run.

When I went out to run today, I did about 1.5-2 miles nonstop (well, okay, I got a phone call so walked for 30 seconds but started right back up again). And I'm feelin' fine. I really think the BlogHer run inspired me and showed me that I am capable.

One mile? Ha! Piece of cake...now.
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*Oh, and if I end up on the aforementioned golf-cart-of-shame, perhaps I should have a medal made up for that.