Run, Forrest, Run!

It's dark. My eyes adjust to the darkness of the room; my brain slowly becomes aware that we are awake now and we're trying to do stuff. Immediate non-compliance - I negotiate with myself for 5 more minutes. After 6 minutes (truly a rebel), I drag myself to the bathroom to get ready. There's no pumping myself up, no getting amped, no pep talk. It's all discussionment:

 

Me: I'm so tiiiiirrrrreeeeeeeddddd. Why am I doing this?

Self: If you don't do it, you'll regret it later.

Me: I think my bed is still warm. I can get right back in it and go back to sleep.

Self: Now you know you aren't going to fall back to sleep. You're going to be thinking about how you should've gotten up and done it.

Me: Sigh. Whatever. Fine.

Self: Pout all you want to, but do it while you're getting dressed. We gotta go.

Me: You're so bossy.

 

It sounds like it takes much longer than it does; I've got it down to a science and still manage to meet my group on timeish. Before the sun rises, I've started my run.

 

If you had told me a year ago that I would wake up before 5:30 twice a week to run 3 miles with a group of fabulous women, I would have told you to quit playing. When fitness became a regular part of my life about 7 years ago, the idea of me doing any running was laughable. I could do step class, turbo kickboxing and hop on the eliptical trainer, but running? I could wake up and do a bootcamp that involved push ups, dips and planks, but running? Yeah, no.

 

(Every now and again, I'd have these grandiose fantasies of running around Lake Merritt, with the wind whipping through my hair, sun shining on my back. About once a year, I would actually try it...and hate it, questioning my sanity the whole way around. Did you know that when you run, it's hard to breathe at the same time? It creates a burning sensation in your lungs that is quite unpleasant and it makes you sweat - a lot!) 

I didn't always dislike running; as a youngster, it was my main method of transportation. I was also really fast and enjoyed racing people. One time (at band camp), I ran so hard that the inertia propelled me to meet the concrete (that's fancy talk for I fell) and I fractured my wrist! Then it all changed when my wishes came true - I got boobs. That was the end of my running career...until now.

It's not an easy relationship we have, running and I. Now that I'm older (but still fashionably young, don't rush me!), there's more paraphernalia involved -  knee bands, sports bras, fanny packs, running shoes. It takes its toll on my body; my knees and feet often have something to say when I'm done, involving a lot expletives. There's also a lot of negotiation and convincing involved and sometimes my bed wins out. Regardless, I keep doing it. It gives me the chance to think and it feels like such an accomplishment to know that my body can (begrudgingly) run 6 miles or even 13 (on the rarest of occasions). Especially since I didn't feel like I could do it before.

So if I haven't convinced you to grab your sneakers and hit the pavement, that's okay. Running isn't for everyone; given last Monday's event at the Boston Marathon, I could understand why you may be scurred. My one hope is that you will do something that you never thought you could do before, even if it's walking and chewing gum at the same time. The reward is worth it (and you can put it on your resume).

Just for the record, I don't imagine myself as a white woman when I run. ;)