Really–that’s my athletic history. Decade 1: a few ballet lessons. Decade 2: even fewer ballet lessons, followed by high school (no activity) and college (activity only when absolutely required, plus unlimited food). Decade 3: marriage and graduate school (lots of reading–true couch potato-ness), then a baby. Then another baby.

But things changed in Decade 4. A few days after I turned 31, my husband had a heart attack. Suddenly, being couch potatoes seemed like a bad idea. We realized, even as the anesthesia of his bypass surgery was wearing off, that we needed to get fit. We started with a few shaky strolls around the hospital halls–he shook from pain, I shook from panic.

Within days, he was walking laps in the mall, and I was trying to figure out how to completely overhaul my cooking habits. I tossed out the butter and cheese, and started learning what saturated fat was and how to avoid it. We were both quite overweight, so we bought an exercise bike. Then a few weights. Soon, we had converted our guest room into an exercise room, and the pounds were melting away. It wasn’t easy, but the success was so much fun.

So 6 or so months later, we were in Miami, visiting my mother-in-law for a few days. We took turns going to use her gym (our children were just-5 and almost-two), and I just couldn’t bear it. I was in this tiny, hot, cramped little room, looking out at Biscayne Bay, all blue and breezy and beautiful. So I went outside for a run instead.

Admittedly, it was excruciating. I can’t imagine when, if ever, I had last tried to run. Like, not even around the block. It hurt a lot. I was afraid there might be a dog in every driveway. And this was downtown Miami–even though it was broad daylight, I was certain I was going to be mugged. But I wasn’t, and the bay was even more beautiful up close, and the breeze was perfect, and I was never bored, not for a second.

I realize that 31 is a bit late in life to decide one needs to be an athlete. And I don’t think I exactly decided it that day–but I definitely wanted to run some more. What does all that have to do with PBP? That’s the next installment . . .