Remember that kid in your middle school class who couldn’t make it through a lap without huffing, puffing and begging the teacher for a break?

That was me.

One of the worst things back then was when our P.E. teacher at Washington Intermediate School directed us to run laps around the school. Why? All that did was remind me that the only thing separating me from physical punishment and sweet freedom was my inexplicable commitment to the rules.

Why couldn’t I run home, which was just a few blocks away? Would a wayward sprint really lead to suspension?

But no, I couldn’t buck authority so it was laps around the school for me. Thankfully, I usually had a note. Diagnosed with asthma at 3 years old, I always had a note excusing me from any physical activity during the day. Sure, my mouth ran a mile a minute, but when it came to my feet, it was more like a mile a month, especially when it came to running.

I never understood running. Why did people run? I’d watch marathon runners and marvel at what made them get up and go.

It’s not as though it were life and death as it once was with our ancestors. There were no lions, tigers or bears in Honolulu, unless you’re counting little league mascots.

And, because I was a child of the ‘80s, if it was about striving to be physically fit, why run when you could sweat to the oldies with the oldies and Richard Simmons? Shucks, I’d even choose Mousercise over running nowhere simply to stay healthy.

Of course, that was more than two decades and a hundred pounds ago.

Running has since become an elusive wild animal I dream of capturing and taming. Okay, I’d settle for an annual pass so I could at least visit whenever I want.

The first day I went running I really didn’t set out to actually run. I was walking for my health. I blame Derek’s cousin, Teri, who suggested I try the 10,000 step-a-day program.

“Hey, Gen, if you want to lose weight, you should really buy a pedometer and try making it to 10,000 steps a day,” she said.

That seemed like a lot, I told her. She then showed me just how easy it is to get to 100 steps. It was merely a matter of walking from the table to the kitchen and back, and once around the living room. “One of the coolest things about it is if you’re like me it’s like a daily challenge to get to the 10,000,” she said.

Teri didn’t know how right she was. After buying a digital pedometer, which I loved before I finally broke its clip, I was obsessed with getting to 10,000. Looking back on it, I probably worried my family a little.

“Why are you pacing back and forth?” Derek asked, clearly annoyed with my seemingly pointless movements.

“I need to get to 10,000! I’ve already got 8,765. Just 1,235 to go!” Pace, pace, pace. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. March, march, march.

“Do you need something to drink?” I’d ask repeatedly, trying madly to add 20 steps to my running total. “What about something to eat? Does Quinn need to be changed again?”

Okay, the last question wasn’t exactly the most popular among my requests, but I definitely changed her that much more in an attempt to increase my daily step count.

Eventually I became consumed with the idea of making it to 10,000 steps at least an hour before bedtime. The last time I was this into something I was a kid playing Pitfall on my Atari.

By this time I figure out that the only way I could get to 10,000 before bedtime was by adding a short jog to my regime. But, uh, how does the girl who always had an excuse finally start running?

The answer is slowly. Very slowly.

See, I made the rookie mistake of trying to run immediately. Derek bemusedly watched me try to instantly become Honolulu Marathon champ Jimmy Muindi.

I think I may have gotten to a mile before seeing stars. “Are you okay?” Derek asked, strolling nonchalantly toward me.

“Do I –gag – look – wheeze – okay?” I asked him, doubling over and trying to catch my breath.

“You need to start slow,” he astutely observed, returning to his bag of pork rinds. From the beginning, Derek has been intent on delivering on his promise to never run beside me. He’d walk behind me, pushing our daughter Quinn in her stroller, like a modern day Lone Wolf and Cub, or he’d sit somewhere on the side, but he would never, ever run beside me.

After searching online for a way to pick up my routine I found a program called “The Couch-to-5K Running Plan.” The plan is to walk more in the early stages and steadily build to a faster pace.

After a month, I’m finally at the 3 minute-walk/3-minute jog phase. It’s been difficult, but the adrenaline rush after a run is worth it, as is the feeling of getting in shape.

One of the weirdest things I had to get used to was hearing my own breath. While most athletes are used to their own huffing and puffing, as a newbie, I felt like I had become my own crank caller.

Eventually I realized I needed to get over it so that I could find my own comfortable pace, which seems like it’s about 3 mph. 

At this point, I’m like the proverbial tortoise in pacing and the hare when it comes to stamina. Nevertheless, at least I’m finally in the race, which is a helluva lot better than sitting on the sidelines with a note.