You ran your first mile at forty two. Your second at forty two and one day. You haven't stopped.
Late start. Slow start. Embarrassing start. But a start. And starts are the only thing that matters.
You were forty two.
Overweight. Winded walking up stairs.
Your doctor didn't mince words.
"Change something or something changes for you."
You bought running shoes that Saturday.
Ugly ones. On sale.
Monday morning you ran.
"Ran."
One mile.
Thirteen minutes. Gasping. Holding your side.
You thought you'd die.
You didn't.
Tuesday you ran again.
Same mile. Twelve minutes fifty.
Still awful.
But ten seconds better.
Ten seconds doesn't sound like much.
Until you realize ten seconds is the width of a decision.
By month three the mile was under ten minutes.
By month six you ran three.
By year one you ran your first 10K.
You didn't start running to become a runner. You started running to prove you could still start. At forty two. With bad knees and worse excuses. The start was the whole point.