For Those of us who are Great at Starting Things.

I’ve always been a great starter.

Upon my foray into training for a half marathon, my son offered up some training advice.

“Mom, you have to try this Zombie run app, it’s all the rage.” He didn’t really say “It’s all the rage,” I just wanted to use that in a sentence at some point in my life.

“Zombie app?” My social media savvy, let’s-get-through-this-with-the-least amount-of-pain side, perked up.

“Yeah, you put your earphones in and zombies pretend chase you down the road…”

My old school, “It’s not-running-unless-you’re-hurting-and-you-know-it” self stepped up and, not-so-politely declined.

As I set out on my six kilometre run today, (which in Lieselle-land is like the Olympic marathon folks, the Olympic freakin’ marathon), I made my way through the park and along a narrowish path. I live in Noosa, Australia (a.k.a. sub-tropical paradise), and I realised, as I ran face first into a spider web, that I didn’t need an app to make me run…fast.

I felt badly for the spider whose work I had annihilated with a single sweep. He had fastidiously and furiously erected an impressive structure (note to self: use “furiously erected and impressive” in a novel of a different genre at some point).

But, he was an immense and furious spider…and now, immensely furious on my face.

My running “style” in that first kilometre was a little less Olympian and whole lot more Fanny the Flustered Flapper. (Ok, I don’t know who that is either, but it’s all I got, folks).

Eventually, spider-free, I snail-paced my way through the park to the second running trail.

It struck me as I hit the home driveway that like much in life, it really isn’t about how you started. It isn’t even about the style you use, or lack, or flaunt. In the end, the question will always be: did you finish?

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