Exactly one year ago I did something else that was also completely out of character. I started this blog. I remember spending hours mulling over whether I should share my first post but eventually I just took the plunge. Initially, I cringed at the thought of sharing my thoughts. My words. I mean, at least twenty people must have read that first post! Ironically, my first blog post was about embarrassing myself when I fell off a stationary bike in my first spin class. Now, one year later, I am writing about preparing for my first race. I’m not running a marathon, but it’s still nice to think that I’ve made a little progress.
Sometimes I get a little jealous of my boys. Their days are filled with all of the various activities we have planned for them: gym classes, playdates, soccer, swim lessons, music class, etc. We are always pushing them towards new experiences, introducing them to new people and bringing them to new places where they can explore and learn. Adults don’t have it quite as easy. If we want to do something new we have to plan it ourselves, carve out time in our tight schedules, and then follow through. We all have so many daunting obligations to work, family and friends that doing something new, something for ourselves, becomes a non-priority.
I’m not sure when it happened, but at some point during the past few months I started thinking of myself as a blogger. A writer. Labels are a funny thing. When you’re younger and in school labels often just fall into your lap. You’re the class athlete, class clown, drama geek or bookworm. As an adult, I’d like to think that I have a little more control over how people perceive me and how I want to spend my time. It’s not always easy, but I’ve learned that sometimes you have to label yourself and just let life catch up to that.
Over the past year I decided to call myself a blogger. And a runner.
I’m looking forward to deciding what to call myself next.