I got the itch in 2009.
I had the gradual urge to just move more – be more active. Having never considered myself an athlete,
and not wanting the commitment of joining a sport, I began to run. Well, sort of. It was more like watching a basset hound flop
down the street for about a block at a time, with long stretches of walking and
wheezing in between.
I would more or
less jog until the stitches in my side became unbearable and then I would
walk.
Red-faced and uncoordinated, I
would stick to main roads to give myself motivation to run instead of walk –
with the hope that with more people watching I wouldn’t give up (and maybe people
would think I was just finishing several miles with how bad I looked).
This continued off and on for a few
months.
Mostly off.
I also played some sports at church on
Saturday mornings and Wednesday nights.
I found out about the neighborhood rec center where I began working out
at on a semi-regular basis.
At this
point I had no idea that I was getting myself onto a gradual road towards
loving the sport of running.
It wasn’t until we moved early in 2010 that things really
began and I found myself in a position where I could commit to exercising. I met a friend who lived a few doors down and
we made a pact to train for a half marathon.
What was I thinking? I know what
I was thinking: fake it ‘til I make it baby, because I certainly wasn’t an
athlete. But I did want to prove that I
can do difficult things and accomplish goals.
And brag.
It took weeks of building up to where I could run 2 miles at
a time. Obviously this isn’t something I
am naturally gifted at. I ran 3-4 times
a week, so consistency was my only ally.
Once I could run for 30 minutes straight I felt like I could finally
admit to other people that went running.
That’s when the training plan for the half marathon officially
began. My colorful excel spreadsheet adorned
my fridge with all the miles I was supposed to do. I was trying to make the experience cheerful
(ha!).
As I increased my weekly mileage my side-stitches gradually
vanished, only to resurface when I hadn’t given myself proper time to digest a
meal prior to running. I still was moving
at the speed of a sloth running into the wind, but I was improving as my
body grew a little stronger. The day
came when I could run for an entire hour.
To me this was a red-letter accomplishment when I could take a step back
and see how far I had come.
My Saturday long-runs were bumped up by a mile each week at
this point. I remember mile 8 when it
felt like I was flying through the miles.
I remember mile 9 when I left too late in the morning and got a little
sun-burned and was so stinking hot and thirsty that I just lay down and cried
when I got home and I felt like Calvin when he said to Hobbes, "Some days
even my lucky rocket ship underpants won't help". I remember mile 10 when I hit double-digit
miles, albeit it was on a treadmill out of necessity. After doing my 12-miler I knew I could finish
the 13.1 when it was time.
Race day came and I couldn’t have asked for better weather:
50 degrees with a light breeze and partially cloudy. I had all my gear laid out, I ate my
pre-planned out breakfast, and I was off to the start with butterflies in my
stomach. My legs begged me to walk at
mile 10, but after about 1.3 seconds of walking I realized I might never
motivate them to begin running again once I lost my momentum. So I carried on and finished my first race in
2 hours 15 minutes, just like I had hoped for!
I could barely walk afterwards, but I felt like I could celebrate all
those months of pretending I was a runner by saying that I finished such a big
race.
In the months that followed I kept up my running and did a
4-mile turkey trot on Thanksgiving.
Winter hit in Utah, and since I don’t run in the snow (sprained ankle
anyone?) I joined a little gym that was available to the employees at my
work. We moved to Texas in May 2011 to a
complex that, per my requirements, had a fitness center that I could use
whenever I wanted for free.
It felt like a good time to look ahead at another big race. The summer months in Texas, when even the
nighttime temperatures are somewhere between 70 and a million degrees, are my
off-season months, so I chose a race in February. This particular race was touted as the
world’s only half and full marathon entirely on the beach, plus I knew some
people in my church who were also registered for it. Hurray for moral support! My preparation for this half marathon was
similar in mileage as the first time around (minus the weeks of building up to
2 miles), but this time I had the confidence of knowing that I had done it
before.
Race day came and I couldn’t have asked for worse
weather. There was lighting, rain, and
wind. Perhaps a hurricane too; I can’t
quite be sure. Everybody was soaked to
the bone before the gun even went off. I
was only at mile 4 when seemingly random parts of my body started to viciously
complain. Thankfully I had a friend who
was my same speed who ran with me the whole time so we could talk each other
out of wanting to quit. Trudging through
rivulets of sandy rain water and being pelted by stinging rain and howling
coastal wind was not the ideal race situation.
At the finish line there were volunteers to undo the timing chips off
our shoes and the poor old guy who was helping me had to suffer through me
slumping over onto him because my body gave out. He just said “that’s ok honey, you just lean
on me”. I think my body had wanted to
just stop as soon as possible. I ended
up finishing in 2:13 and was third place in my age group! I later read a blog entry from a dude who had
also ran this race and he equated it to his runs as a Navy Seal more than any
other recreational race he had done.
Bragging rights? Yes, I think so.
Having finished my second big race I officially allowed
myself to join the ranks of those who call themselves runners. Now I’m in the middle of training for my
first marathon and have been doing a lot more cross training (exercises other
than running, such as calisthenics and weights). I’m on the brink of considering myself an
athlete, but I’ll let you know when that day comes. I’ve grown to love the sport of running for
its ability to break people down to their core elements and refashion them with
increased confidence and mental stamina.
When did you consider yourself a runner or an athlete? I love to hear other people’s stories!
