I like to walk.
I walk with my dog. Today we walked along a river, through an old cemetery, through a village, through a park, along a canal, over some locks, down a spit of land with water on both sides. We were just walking along. I walk in any season, but am happiest now that almost all the snow is finally melted. We have woods all around our house. And ponds. And paths. And trails. I walk them. I walk through cemeteries. I walk up hills, I walk through wetlands, through meadows. I am a woman who likes to walk with her dog. I like to think while I walk. But the thinking is so effortless that I don't even remember what I thought about, just that I thought about stuff and the sun shone and the dog was always at my side.
I do not like to run.
But I think I should like to run. I think I should be the kind of person who runs and runs and thinks and sweats and trains for something... but running just hurts. I had meniscus surgery on my knee last year so running makes me a little nervous too. Plus you have to wear the special uni-boob bra, so that's no fun. I can't relax and let my mind wander. When I run I just think, "Can't...get enough...air. Shins hurt."
My husband runs. Fast. Up hills. And he likes it. Weird, right? He "trains" for things. Races.
I know nobody is judging me. Sometimes I jog, but mostly, I just like to walk. So why do I feel like I should want to run? Maybe I just want to be able to brag that I'm in training.