Run the
Mile Day was always the worst day in Gym Class, which is saying something
because me and Gym Class didn't have very many good days. I dreaded Spring and the onset of “Presidential
Fitness” season. Pretty much my whole
relationship with the President from ages 10-18 was a seething resentment of
his fitness tests, with the mile being the absolute worst. I
remember exactly one of my “mile” times from High School, 18 minutes. I “ran” that 18 minute mile in electric blue
Doc Marten boots, which I had convinced my gym teacher that year (one of the
few that seemed mildly sympathetic to my plight as a hater of gym class) that
they had good arch support and non-marking
soles, which meant that they met the minimum requirement for gym shoes. They also weighed about 3 pounds apiece.
My brief
experiences with running were so negative that for most of my life the words “me”
and “run” could not exist in the same sentence unless it read something like
this “I hope that nothing deadly ever tries to chase me because I don’t run.” I couldn’t escape from it though. I was surrounded by people who not only ran,
but seemed honestly to enjoy it. I found
myself frequently surrounded by super fit mega-athletes while I knit by the
sidelines waiting for my life-partner to finish whatever running event he had
signed up for. I found myself doing
crazy things like scrubbing mud out of running shoes and then strapping them to
the roof of our truck so that they might possibly be dry when I had to meet up
with him at the 30 mile aid station during his latest ultra-marathon. Instead of feeling like the awkward,
unskilled teenager in gym class I found that I was just one more member of a
crowd of people who were out enjoying themselves.
The
super weird thing is that they all seemed to think I belonged there too.
About 7
years ago I was camping with my family up in the Keweenaw Peninsula of Upper
Michigan. Manimal (my husbeast)and his
eight year old daughter were participating in a two day, three race running
festival and I was along for the ride.
One of the events was a uphill 5K, where the finishing line was on the
top of a mountain (a Michigan mountain…so you know, a big hill), and Isis was
going to run with her Dad so I figured that if I walked I could meet them at
the top and we could hike down together.
This was a small festival, and most of the people running were of the
super-fit variety. There were a few
spouses doing the same thing I was, but
I was definitely the last person on the trail.
Not halfway up the mountain I met the front runners (who had just
sprinted up a mountain and were now jogging back down, just for fun). I remember the first person to pass me. He had a short beard, long hair, a baseball
cap to keep the sun out of his eyes, very typical “trail runner,” looking
dude. “Hey good job!” he called out as
he passed me. He was long gone before I
could correct his misconception. He
thought I was in the same race he was!
Silly running man, can’t he use his eyes and see that I am OBVIOUSLY not
a runner? The second runner passed me a
few minutes later “Looking good! You’re
almost there!” he called as he passed me.
Silly, silly runner man. I almost
called out to him “No! You’ve got the wrong idea. I’m just meeting my boyfriend up at the top
of the hill, I’m not running this race!” but of course he was out of
earshot. The third runner passed me “Way
to go!”
What are
the chances that these three super runners who had just run.up.a.damn.mountain
could possibly all make the same ridiculous mistake? They know what a runner looks like don’t
they? How could they possibly assume
that I’m running the same race they are?
I’m WALKING obviously and am so far behind everyone else. I’m just out for a stroll in the woods. Silly runner dudes. Except….wait…I am on the same trail that they
just ran on. I am going to end up in the
same place that they just did….and then I’ll come back down again, just like
they did. So…huh…I guess I am KIND OF
doing the same thing that they are. That’s
weird. And…who would know what another
runner looks like better than another runner?
If they have made the mistake of assuming that I’m in the same race as
they are, then maybe….I am in the same race that they are?
The seed
had been planted.
The next
week I tried to run around one of our local nature centers…and it pretty much
sucked. My mouth dried out. My legs hurt.
I got kind of dizzy….but I kept on doing it a couple of times a week until
I force myself through two grueling 13 minute miles. I got pregnant that fall. For medical reasons I was told to knock it
off with the high-impact exercise while I was carrying the baby, and then I
found that life with a newborn was crazy and complicated…and became pregnant
with my second and third in fairly quick succession and all in all it was six
years before I could “get back” to running.
I had a
much greater success with my new found identify as “A person who can run if she
wants to,” the second time around. For
one thing I knew I could do it, and for another I started slow and let myself
build up to it, starting with short intervals and building up my endurance
gradually. Shocked I found that I was
enjoying myself. It was still a long
time before I could say the sentence “I’m a runner,” without some sort of
qualifier like “I’m a KIND of a runner,” or “I’m TRYING to be a runner,” or “I’m
a very SLOW runner.”
(Stacia and I on the Beach after the Legend 5 mile)
I ran my
first post-baby intervals in March of 2012, when my daughter was 6 months
old. Since then I have run countless
5ks, 2 (or 3?) 10ks, 6 half marathons and 1 full marathon. I also started a “club” called “The Warrior
Goddess Training Academy” for women who want some support to accomplish their
fitness goals, which now has over 330 members all over the country. That club was started a year ago today. Happy
Anniversary my Badass Warrior Goddesses.
You are all amazing and inspire me everyday.
(Holding 80 pounds of children wearing my medal from my first half marathon and my first marathon)
