You could say that this all began with my mother...isn't always the moms fault?
When I was much younger, around seven or eight years old, I remember my mother gettign up at some God forsaken hour of the morning to jogging. Eventually, after what I imagine was some impressive whinning I was given permission to tag along if I would get up in time.
I don't remember joining her more than one or two times, mostly I imagine due to the fact that she really did run at the Butt Crack of Dawn and I have been and and always will be a "hater of rising earlier than 9am- if I must". It was so early that I remember wathcing her back as she pulletd away and disapeared into the fogg.
And it was cold...I don't like the cold.
I didn't really start running until I was about 14 years old. My uncle on my mothers side had died that summer and while I hadn't really known him, he was the "cool" uncle. He built fireworks, Had friends that my mother and aunt warned us about, introduced me to Monty Python, and let us drive his car even though we weren't old enough.
He also ran Marathons and Triathlons. He was a bit short but had that small runners build that I envy to this day. I wanted to be like him- cool, and a runner.
Since I wasn't cool, I decided to be a runner. I only ran a mile or two at a time, and I was never fast but I did love it.
That was 15 years ago.