I am a runner.

I'm not a slender girl. I'm no longer a young woman. I don't run every day. I don't own top of the line gear. I've never run a marathon. I don't know my pace per mile or my 5k pace. If you pass me in your car as I'm moving along one of the potted back roads near my home, you may not classify what my legs are doing as running. But I am a runner.

Several years ago I changed my life in a number of drastic ways. One of them was to decide to become as fit as I could manage. Running seemed by all accounts to be one of the quicker routes as it combines aerobic and anaerobic cardiovascular work, burns calories, develops muscle, aids other exercise as it increases the capacity for breath and more efficient oxygen use and circulation. Running became the core around which I designed the rest of my personal program.

I'd expected that when I ran, once I'd had time to develop, weight loss would follow. Naturally! I mean, it's a simple calculation: weight, distance run, effort exerted. Yet somehow this never seemed to end in a lowered number on the scale. That's ok, I told myself. I'm not in this to lose weight. Still, wtf?!

I'd been told that when people run, there comes this magical point where the effort falls away and the floaty chemical wonder of endorphins kick in, there was mention of a natural high. I'm still waiting for this. It's been four years, more or less. Where are my endorphins? I'd send an angry letter of demand if there was someone in charge.

I was led to believe that the best shoes for runners are the most expensive, the cushioned, modern design, the molded and engineered gel-filled. I bought a couple of examples (choking, quietly, having never spent more than about $20 on any pair of shoes in my life) and promptly ended up injured. And injured again. And injured again. After a bit of research, I went the opposite direction and tried barefoot running. My first foray into which involved actual bare feet and didn't take me far enough to lose my breath. Human feet get tender in shoes and with few options for surfaces, I was trying to run on gravel and hard pavement. Not even nice gravel- sharp, mean bits interspersed with sand and slipperier bits that look to twist an ankle.

More research. I rediscovered an idea I'd seen previously featured in a running magazine, the idea of indigenous sandal-style footwear for running. I found a man who sells a kit, a serious distance runner, his tested home version of a self-constructed running sandal. Better than a bare foot, but I was unable to overcome many of the issues involved in actual use of the shoe. For now I'm back to regular shoes, but the cheapest version I can find and with No fancy frills or helps. So far, still good.

Injuries and real life have kept me from doing as much as I'd like, but I get about as much as I can stand and enough to feel healthy and reap the benefits. I can't blame running for the injuries. Mainly they are my own stupidity or shortsightedness or simple lack of knowledge. Believe it or not, even the experts don't always know what they're talking about.

What running does offer me is an arena in which I can challenge myself. It's me against myself each time: my own past performance, my mood or level of health that day, my mental state and power of will. I will never be fast enough to be a challenge in a race. That's not why I try. I build toughness of mind as I build my body. I learn how to give myself a break, that walking is ok, and to be aware- of my surroundings, of the good times, of what I'm doing and what my body needs. Speed, distance, charts, races, all of that business is secondary (and really, not important in the larger picture).

You may pass a woman on a lonely country road. She may be covered in sweat, breathing hard (and loudly), cursing, limping, absorbed in her music, jogging, running full out, crying, appreciating the day. I don't care if my hinder looks fat in my pants, if there is an unwelcome jiggle. I don't care if you are insulted by my baring skin and covering miles on an oppressively hot day in my jog bra and no shirt. I don't mind if my form is a bit ungainly or my effort too labored to be artful. I am a runner.