I love bragging on my gorgeous husband. I especially love bragging on the fact that he lost 15kg’s in one year by walking and using a Fitbit and now runs 10km’s, four times a week (I am expecting a sponsorship deal here Fitbit people).

So in December (and about 3 times before that) I decided: “Hey, if he can do it, so can I.”

Wrong.

I started by walking with him, but he was too fast so I asked him if I could jog.

Mistake.

Within minutes, the world was spinning white stars and I was looking for a way to gracefully vomit in my sports bra without him noticing. So guess what: I didn’t go again. Or I went once and then took a shortcut home.

Then in December, I thought: “Let me try by myself”. Now I am the kind of person who feeds off other people’s energy. So after what felt like hours of running (7 minutes and 33 seconds), I turned back and went home. It was boring. And I felt the stars and vomit combo coming back. “I will try again tomorrow.”

Mistake.

I went back a few days later, but the same thing happened and I decided that I’m just not cut out for running.

You see, the extremely important thing I’d missed in this whole process, was the fact that my husband didn’t just lose weight or become a running god overnight. It happened one step at a time. It happened by putting out his clothes the night before so he didn’t have an excuse, conquering his own will to give up, to stop, to go home, not to get back in bed when it was still dark and raining, to not have that Coke and to drink that extra glass of water. Or how he logged every single thing he ate.

Details are not my thing. I like the end picture. My dreams are big and I often get overwhelmed with what will need to happen in the middle to get to that dream.  So I give up.  All I saw was: “Start. Walk for a year. Result.” I didn’t see all the little steps in between. How he first started walking just to the train station and then to the shops on the weekend and then got up earlier so that he could still walk before work and then started running only after six months when he was walking so fast that he couldn’t beat his own time.

So two weeks ago I started walking. Against myself. I walk for half an hour on the same route and I try to better my time. And it kills me! Because I want to start running. I want results. I want to be a “runner”. I want to wear (and fit into) cute tights and running tops.  But I don’t. I put one foot in front of the other and I walk. And I beat my own time some days and some days I don’t. And that is okay. One day I will graduate to running.

And perhaps this time I will succeed, because I am taking it one step at a time.

Wish me luck.

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