I’ve always had a fast pulse. Combine that with low blood pressure and none of us are surprised that I had issues with passing out as a teen, right? I’ve always just held that my fast heartbeat was part of me, kind of like how I was never an athlete. That just wasn’t me.
Until it was.
When I started running, 11 months ago now*, I was doing it to have a hobby. B had just started a fairly intense line of work that came with long hours. I had just returned from a trip to Texas and was feeling bereft. So I decided to sign up to run a half marathon. Even though, at the time, I couldn’t run more than a mile without needing a walk break.
By the time I got my Fitbit, after my half marathon, my resting heart rate was down in the 60s. It cycles up, I’m guessing in correspondence to my menstrual cycle, though thanks to birth control I really don’t have one. I was amazed that my heartbeat could be so slow.
I was always the kid with the fast pulse. I was always the one out of breath. I was always the one lagging behind or stopping to take pictures to cover my gasping.
Not anymore. This is more surreal to me than my running. I put in the work just about every day with my runs. They balance me. But to not be tired or out of breath going up steep inclines on hikes? To have the energy to be in front of everyone? To not be gasping? That’s change I can’t deny.
I’ve been rewriting a lot of the stories I tell about myself this year. Here’s one that my body rewrote for me.
*While I’ve dabbled at running since grad school, I never stuck with it or ran consistently until last August. I wish I knew what made it stick this time, though I think it has a lot to do with all the money I spent on the race.