I was thinking about this today as I read this article.
I was a bookworm child and rarely went outside. When I did, it was often just to wander about by myself and make up stories. But I was shortsighted and physically uncoordinated, and if they'd had any teams at all, I would have been picked last.
Even now, in my extremely middle thirties and when I have two functioning feet, I don't think of myself as a runner. I'm someone who runs - not terribly fast or terribly well. I just run the way I do most things: clumsily but with enthusiasm. (Exception: I knit pretty well and very fast. But that's it.)
But I love it. The few races I've run, I've loved the simplicity of it: it's you and your body, pushing towards the finish.
I live vicariously through other runners' blogs. As I'm not running, I've got little to talk about, so I read instead. I really miss running in the mornings right now. When I got my injury, I assumed I would just lapse and soon enough lose interest. But instead I think obsessively about getting back on the road.
This makes me hope that, just maybe, I'm a runner.
Time will tell.