In which I maybe don't hate running?

I am so confused.
My entire life, I've hated running. The constant wheezing in and out as I fight the inevitable stitches in my side. The lack of excitement and adrenaline. The pounding of my sore feet on the pavement. The blisters and callouses that I then have to apologize profusely for should I ever go get a pedicure.

I think I've also always hated running because (comparatively speaking), I've been bad at it. In high school, when our volleyball coach would make us run sprints, I'd always try to run with the other slower people so I didn't feel so badly about myself. It wasn't that I didn't want to push myself, necessarily. It was that no matter how hard I pushed myself, I was never going to beat the fast girls on the team, and that made me want to give up.

In college, I failed our mile run in preseason. Twice. It didn't help that I was in the midst of battling an eating disorder at that time, so I had no energy, and running just made me feel like I was going to pass out, like my heart was going to explode out of my chest, like I was going to vomit pure bile up onto the sidewalk.

So yeah. Running and I have a rocky relationship. We're barely on speaking terms, and we definitely haven't enjoyed each other's company. The only time we managed to get along was my senior year of college, when I only ran so that I could fit into my wedding dress (because, dude, alterations are expensive!).

Then why have I spent the last thirty minutes Googling "reflective running gear" and "running tips" and "races in Virginia"? Why have I been running more times in the past two weeks than I have in the past two years? Why did I sign up for a 10K fully expecting to run the entire thing when I've never run more than three miles in my life? Why am I hoping we have a snow day tomorrow partially so I'll have time to go running?

I'm still not sure if I'm a "runner" or not. But this identity crisis is good, and I may become a convert yet...