A Rocky Running Journey

My relationship with running began as a child. My dad was and still is a runner, and the kitchen counter always held the latest versions of Runner's World and the Road Runner Sports catalog. I remember occasionally flipping through the pages of the magazine and feeling excited about the idea of running, but I never really had the opportunity to give it a try because 1) I lived in a miserably hot neighborhood without sidewalks full of old people and the occasional weirdo in southern Arizona; 2) I attended a small Catholic school without sufficient sports activities; and 3) my parents did not encourage me to run. I was also just dumb enough to think that kids did not have the option to be distance runners because I had never seen anyone my age actually running. 

Fast forward to high school when, for the first time in my academic career, I had the opportunity to attend public school. My naive, abnormal teenage self was shocked to learn that a couple of my drama class buddies, who all seemed like normal people, ran on this thing called cross country after school. I wasn't sure what cross country was, but it sounded really cool when one of the girls told me that she actually liked running and that the team ran for three or more miles every day. This news dumbfounded me. How on earth did a fourteen-year-old run more than, say, one or two laps around the track we used for PE classes?

I started eating lunch with humans who ran on the cross country team. They were fun people, high on endorphins, and their energy was contagious. For a short time, I dated one of the runners. He was my first boyfriend, and he crushed my pathetic little goody-goody heart one month later when he dumped me in between classes. I wasn't about to let that stop me, though. I wanted to be a runner.

Finally gathering enough nerve to put myself out there, I joined track the second semester of my sophomore year. Much to my dismay, I was awful. My running was sluggish and weak, I knew nothing about running or proper form, and my heart rate topped the charts at well over 200 beats per minute during practice on a regular basis. When I told the coach, he didn't believe me, so I didn't dare tell him that I was seeing black spots in front of my vision while I gasped for breath for fear I'd be kicked off the team. I attended a few track meets and ran the 800 meter race, taking dead last just about every time. 

That summer, I was determined to get better. I woke up at 4:00 a.m. to beat the sweltering Arizona summer heat and went for a few mile run regularly, but the training did not seem to help. Every time I ran, my lungs screamed and my chest felt like an elephant had taken residence on my ribcage, but I stubbornly keep going. I was so excited to finally be part of the cross country team my junior year only to discover that... well, I sucked. Finally, after that season, I gave up and resigned myself to understanding that I was not destined to be the runner that I felt was trapped deep inside of me. 

I learned I have a minor issue with tachycardia and heart palpitations in my mid-twenties, which accounted for the chest pain and breathing issues I experienced. Like many runners, I started out running too fast, not allowing my cardiovascular system or the rest of my body enough time to build the strength and endurance it needs to pump oxygen and utilize energy efficiently. 

Well over a decade later, my good neighbor friend and I had the conversation that I posted last week: 

A:    I want you to run a half marathon with me.

Me:  No. I hate running. 

A:    You should really run a half marathon with me. You would LOVE it.

Me:  In the event of a zombie apocalypse, I'd willingly be eaten first just so I don't have to run. 

A:    Please? It's not until June, so you have plenty of time to train.

Me:  Ugh... I'll think about it.

The inability to say no to a friend asking me to do something I really didn't want to do segued into the bizarre decision to keep doing this weird thing during which I step one foot in front of the other while pumping my arms back and forth at a cadence of around 170 steps per minute with the hope that eventually I'll be able to stay at 180 steps per minute one day... for fun. 

Once I made the decision to do the half marathon, I bought the cheapest treadmill I could find because I was too embarrassed to be seen attempting to move my lead feet in public. I followed a couch to half marathon plan and started with walk/jogging. The jogging was difficult for me, just a couple of minutes felt nearly impossible, but I kept with the training program. This time, I knew I had to start very slowly to avoid the chest pain. 

A couple weeks into the program, I ran a full mile without stopping. I remember feeling my face crack into a smile as I stared at my garage wall with my feet pounding the cheap treadmill tape. It had been an impossibly slow mile, but my heart rate did not exceed the safe zone, and I had actually done it. Another four months of avid training, and I finished my first half marathon. I was not fast and the last three or four miles were borderline agony, but I did it. 

The day after that half marathon, I learned the valuable lesson yet again that too much too soon is a really bad idea when I unsurprisingly suffered massive IT Band pain that left me hobbling for weeks. It pays to have a physical therapist as one of my closest friends. With her help and recommendations, I became best buds with a foam roller and lived to tell about it.

I began running again two months later. This time, I held off on running another half marathon until more than a year of consistent training had passed. During the course of that year, I joined a local running club, signed up for shorter distance races like 5Ks and 12Ks, added a little trail running to the mix, and eventually, got to where I am today. 

My most recent half marathon was a personal best by ten minutes. More importantly, though, I had a great time running with my husband and close physical therapist friend, and I managed to feel strong and healthy for the entire 13.1 miles. I love the picture below because for the first time, I look like a "real runner" during a race. I'm also smiling like some crazed lunatic. Seriously, who runs that kind of distance for fun?

Beat the Blerch Half Marathon - September 2016

Several miles after this photo was taken, I had a sweat stain in the shape of a smily face on my boobs and waist, and my friend said, "I'm not going to lie, I kind of hate you right now," as I powered forward and kept us on track with our 9:45 min/mile pace strong to the finish. 

I think she's forgiven me since.