Treadmill Envy

At one time I was 237 pounds. At one time I could hardly run for even a minute straight.

Now, almost eight years later, I'm a mere shadow of my former self and can run miles without stopping.

I've come a long way, I know, but I still have this thing inside, pushing me to want to be better, to be the best, at everything I do.
I try not to compare myself with others. As I approach 30, I have found that I'm much more secure with who I am and don't bother worrying about what others are doing, as long as I'm being the best me that I can be.

...Until I get on a treadmill next to the fast girl.
You know the one, she's running super fast, like a seven- or eight-minute mile, and hardly looks like she's putting forth any effort.
I'm next to her, trying to mind my own business, running a 10-minute mile and feeling as though I may die at any minute.

The fast girl stayed on that treadmill, at that pace, for 33 minutes. I know because my eyes were going back and forth between her treadmill's display and mine, hating her the whole time. She ran more than four miles.

The competitor in me had to beat her. Obviously, I wasn't going to beat her when it came to speed, but I was going to run longer, farther than she did. Even if it killed me, I was going to beat her.

I ran for an hour, finishing at 6.02 miles.

I beat the fast girl, and it felt so good. I'm thankful she didn't know we were competing, because I'm not so sure I would have won otherwise...


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