Had you ever noticed how runners in the Olympics and in track meets looked so lean and perfectly in sync? Their arms and legs pumped rhythmically, torsos slightly bent, nostrils flaring as they inhaled, and mouths slightly parted on the exhale. If you looked more closely, you could see their abs expand as they breathed in and out, it is amazing.

Back in 2011, I joined the local CrossFit training program. I had been to boot camp and the gym, but those just were not working for me. CrossFit seemed a bit different, so I decided to give it a try. I discovered that I was both stronger and weaker than I thought. I could do things called back squats, clean and jerks, push presses, and other exercises using heavy weights—at least, heavy for me.

One Saturday morning, the local group workout of the day was to meet at the track and run 5K. Did you know  5K is the same as 12 laps around the football track—about three miles? I did not know that, or I may not have shown up that morning.

Normally, I tried to sleep in on Saturday mornings. However, that morning, I had set my alarm so I could go to the track. I was all enthused. Oh wait, that wasn’t me—that was the instructor. He was a regular Pollyanna.

I stretched, yawned, jumped around, and tried to wake up. I messed with my phone (since it had music now) and found the stopwatch thing so I could time myself. Then, off I went. I picked the smallest circle to run in since it looked shorter.

I jogged along, some four-beat country music in my ear, yawning and just trying to keep my feet moving. I had to get 12 of these circles knocked out. Circles 1 and 2 took a little over eight minutes. I didn’t think that was so bad.

By the third time around, I had figured out how to time an individual lap on my phone. The third and fourth laps were around four minutes each; again, I thought I was doing great. On the fifth round, I ran the two long sides of the circle and walked the short sides. By the sixth round, I only managed to run one short side but still finished in about four minutes.

By then, my shins were screaming and begging me to stop running or even standing. I seriously considered listening to them, but told myself I wanted to finish. The seventh round—no running, more like a walk and an upright crawl. I had to call it quits. Twenty-eight minutes of my morning, gone in a blur of black circles.

I was not a runner. I didn’t enjoy running and enjoyed it even less after that day. My legs may have pumped along like those of Olympic runners, but there was no grace, leanness, or in-sync motion in any of my movements. Feet pumping, mouth wide open with loud, heaving gasps of air, torso bent forward in the hopes that I would reach my goal sooner rather than later, and arms flailing wildly like a windmill.

My spouse said I looked like Phoebe in the episode titled “The One Where Phobe Runs” (Season 6, Episode 7). Trust me, that was not a compliment.

Needless to say, I did not develop an affinity for running. But I had to keep trying to turn back time, or else I would be that old lady on the sidelines wearing orthopedic sneakers, watching the fit pass me by—graceful, effortless, and completely in sync.

Originally published June 18, 2011. Revised 2025