(This is part 1 of a 4-part story series covering fun, friends, and fashion over my 40 years of running.)

Running became a part of my life in the late 70s. It was officially called jogging at the time and became the exercise rage. My dad decided to give it a try and would jog after work. As a pre-teen and my dad's after-work sidekick, I decided to join him.

Showing up at my dad’s shop at the end of a workday often came with perks. Dad was the town barber in Remsen, Iowa. I would ride my bike to his barber shop, timing my entry for when he swept the floor after cutting the hair of his last customer. This timing was crucial, as an extra customer meant a longer wait for me.

Dad's four-block commute to work was on his bicycle. Joining him for the ride home included stops at the post office and checking in on an elderly neighbor. On a lucky day, we would stop by the town drive-in, and I was treated to a soft-serve ice cream cone. Occasionally we would stop by one of the local bars where I would enjoy a bottled root beer and packaged nuts. With our track record of fun after-work activities, I didn't hesitate to join Dad on his jogs.

Our route began in the alley behind our house. We ran up a steep hill on a street heading out of town. My memory of our first jogs includes my wearing corduroy bib overalls (painter's style) and dad in jeans. Unaware that special clothing was needed, we quickly learned the value of quality running gear.

My chubby thighs responded to the corduroy friction with strawberry chaffing. We adapted and persevered by adding distance to our route with each early evening jog. A right turn past the town swimming pool was added to the run up the hill until the route gradually wrapped around town. I soon found that enjoying the scenery and people I encountered on the town streets made the workout on my legs bearable.

As jogging became part of my daily routine, I began perusing JCPenney's catalog for jogging suits. From Charlie’s Angels to Kristy McNichol, all the '70s ladies wore these stretchy tracksuits. Following my sign-up for Junior High Track, I convinced my mom that I needed a store-bought jogging suit.

My mistake was not showing Mom what I had in mind (my findings in the JC Penney catalog). Instead, I told Mom to surprise me. I thought the surprise would be in the color, thinking the style would mirror those the Angels wore. I was picturing the options of red, blue, or black, and all with a racing stripe down the side.

I got a surprise, but not the kind I was anticipating. Mom purchased my jogging suit in forest green with mint green accents in strange geometrical patterns. It was tight in all the wrong places. I looked nothing like Jaclyn Smith. I didn’t look like any other girls on the track team either. They had the red, blue, or black joggers with a racing stripe down the side. My tracksuit style would become the iconic look of the 80s. Once again, Mom was just ahead of her time.

The unflattering tightness of my jogger motivated me to run faster and decrease the size of my thighs, ultimately a purchase with long-term benefits. By high school, I had my first job at the drive-in, with me now serving Dad an ice cream cone on his way home from work.

With my job came my own money. Now, I was choosing and purchasing my running clothes. The 80s brought us the Oliva Newton-John version of workout clothing. I owned several pairs of silky and very short running shorts. A matching bandanna was tied across my forehead with striped athletic socks hiked up to my knees. Dad had given up jogging by this time, instead taking up power walking with Mom. As running has stayed with me, walking has remained their lifelong exercise.

High school track was a great experience. I enjoyed the practices and comradery with my teammates and became good at the sport. My best races were the 400 and 200 meters. Our 1,600-meter relay time from 1982 still holds the school record. Although I loved track, I did not like the butterflies in my stomach as I waited for my race to begin. To this day, I don’t have a hint of nervousness speaking in front of hundreds of people but put me front and center for an athletic endeavor, and I am a bundle of nerves.

I ventured outside of track and ran cross country for several meets but with an ulterior motive. I ran to qualify for the district meet so I could hold hands with my boyfriend on the long bus ride to and from the meet. It was worth it.

Running remained a staple in my exercise routine outside of track season through the mid-80s. Almost daily, I would run the same route through Remsen that my dad and I had originally mapped out. Two miles long and always running for time, I would work to beat my last record. Friends and boyfriends would join me, on legs or bike, for this race around town.

I would run my 2-mile route all day and night. Following late nights of weekend waitresses, I would wind down after work with a run. Many times, this would be after midnight. The local police would keep a watchful eye as I rounded the dark and isolated corner onto Main Street.

Although I now feel lucky that nothing bad happened on these late-run runs, this was small-town living in the 80s. Running under the bright moon in the quiet of the night was pure bliss. The magical memories remain as solo night running has become a poor (but joyful) choice from my past. Maturity and a harsher world have gained the lead in my current decision-making.