Run [photo challenge].

Ah, running ... what a long and interesting relationship you and I have had.

It began in junior high, when I insisted I was "fat" and punished myself for it by running miles through the morning dark in trendy-at-the-time basketball high-tops that gave me shin splints so bad that it hurt too much to stand up from the curb after stumbling to grasp my legs in pain.

It continued in my early twenties, when having competed at university for four years in an entirely unrelated sport gave me enough hubris to think I was fit enough to run a marathon, just like that, no training involved; and I could, except then I couldn't walk down stairs or get up off the toilet or hardly even out of bed for about two weeks afterward without recognizing the stupidity of what I'd just done. But I trained the year after that, and for the three years that followed, and the only shame I felt is that George W. Bush's personal record was a couple seconds faster than my own.

It got better, though, and stabilized into a more moderate routine of 10Ks and half-marathons and even this thing called cross-training until almost a year ago, when four days in a row of rough hiking to the bases of two of Patagonia's finest peaks (one, two) strained my Achilles tendon to what felt like the verge of snapping. (Happy honeymoon, newlyweds!) Since then it's been indoor elliptical and stationery bike and the occasional jaunt to the Swiss Alps, and funnily enough, everything's turned out okay.

But even if I'm not actually running in them, rather just plodding along on all but the roughest paths, I still favor my trail runners over hiking boots. The lovely pair shown here got me up a few Peruvian hills, and when I took this photo to commemorate a rather muddy trek, I had no idea that I'd meet my future husband in a Limeño restaurant the very next night. (Right after buying the little blue hat.)

I wasn't wearing them then, but still, I ran to him.

reappropriated for EmHart's September Photo Challenge.