When I was six, I was fast. This is one of the best memories of my childhood. I remember running a race in kindergarten, falling and twisting my ankle, getting up and continuing to run like it was nothing, and still coming in first. There was a lot of congratulatory back-slapping and high five-ing from my gym teacher and my classmates. Pretty much after that, all athleticism disappeared from my life.
Fast-forward to age thirteen and every fat kid's nightmare: the ever-loving Presidential Fitness Test. This was a whole bundle of fail for me, every single time. From hanging like a blob of overcooked pasta from the chin-up bar for the requisite three seconds, to eke-ing out a few sit-ups and trying not to fart in the face of my partner, I dreaded this. But nothing could compare to the dreaded 1-mile run that capped off this gauntlet of pain. Inevitably, the Mile would take place on the hottest day of the year. About a quarter mile in, my side would start aching and I would hyperventilate. I would pray for it to be over as I rounded the final stretch. Finally, I would cross the finish line with all of the other chubby kids, and we would groan in a Greek chorus of shame as we tried to keep ourselves from covering our Velcro shoes with vomit. These are my memories of running.
So, why do I do it now?
It really makes no sense; I'm not a natural runner, I am not a natural athlete. But here I am, training for a half-marathon. I've ran countless miles between those embarrassing school days, and I can tell you this: I LOVE running. Everything about it is infinitely appealing to me now - from choosing my next pair of shoes to researching the best training programs for my next race, I look forward to my tri-weekly run just like I used to look forward to a Big Mac.
The shift happened a few years ago. I was going through a divorce, and was incredibly unhappy with how I felt and how I had allowed myself to become so unhealthy. I cleaned up my diet and began exercising. Within a year, I had dropped over 35 pounds. I still wasn't running, but I was feeling pretty good. And then my world collapsed in on itself.
My ex-husband, who had struggled with depression for many years, took his own life, leaving our daughter fatherless at age 3. We had remained friends, despite our divorce, and I still cared for him as the father of my child. Suddenly, I had no partner and I was the only person that my daughter had. I vacillated from feelings of extreme helplessness and fear to an intense anger that made me physically shake. I had a choice - I could be strong and care for my child and find a way to carry on, or I could crumble. I'm not a crumbler. I started lifting weights, and I started to run.
The first quarter mile hurt, like it always had. But this time, the hurt was a sentient "thing" that I could battle. I made the pain a monster that I had to destroy. That made it easier. That monster got driven farther, and farther back as I advanced. I saw it again at the 1-mile mark, then the 2-mile, and then again at 5 miles. Most runners call this the Wall. The Wall is real, and you have to run through it, or you quit. At a time in my life when I felt helpless, running made me feel like a warrior. I battled shin splints, plantar fasciitis, and aching joints. My counselor said I was handling my grief better than any patient she had ever had. Running was my drug, and the cocktail of endorphins it served me helped me more than any anti-depressant.
When I was training for my first half-marathon, I torqued my knee so badly while running on a local woodland trail, that I was out of commission for over a month. I had to ice, wear a wrap, and miss my race. It was devastating. I had been running for over two years at this point, and was up to a 7 mile long run. I went to the elliptical, and stayed there. But it wasn't the same - not even close.
A few months ago, I started running again. I was slow, and memories of that chubby adolescent girl haunted me as I huffed and puffed my way through the Couch to 5K program. (This is an excellent program for beginning runners, by the way.) It was humiliating that I had to start all over. But, I'm glad that I did. I'm training for the same half-marathon I didn't complete two years ago. My life is happy and full now, and I no longer need the Pain Monster to push me. I am excited as I feel my body beginning to change and grow strong again. Even though running makes my calves so big that my boots don't fit, and makes me turn twenty shades of red(not a pretty runner, folks), it makes me feel alive. There's nothing like it.
13.1, here I come.
Image courtesy of yaletownkeg.com
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