Running

Someone asked me yesterday how to get started running. This was an interesting question, and I definitely had an answer, though I'd never articulated it before.

Having run a few thousand miles in college, I took a big break from it during grad school and nursing school. I mean, I didn't run a step, except to the toilet (those of you with IBS can sympathize). Don't get me wrong, I was active. I cycled, I kickboxed, did yoga, lifted some weights, hiked a few good trails, but I didn't run. In fact, I hated running. I loathed it. I hated sucking wind. I hated wanting to puke after a good sprint. I hated that I couldn't run 6 miles like I used to. Oh dang, there's the kicker.

Realizing that my hatred of running stemmed from the fact that I was actually incapable of doing it hit me like a drunk guy in a bar fight. Ow.

So with the goal of completing an Olympic distance triathlon in 7 months, I started running again. First, I'd run a few minutes, then walk some, then run again, then walk more, hoping I wouldn't pass out. Thankfully I had a few friends that also liked this idea, so we ventured out around Duke's East Campus a few times a week. Soon I was up to a mile, then two, then three whole miles without walking. Before, in college, three miles seemed pretty wimpy, but now it was a great victory.

Soon it was four, and walking one at the end. Then, one day, I was overcome. I woke up and thought, dangit, I'm doing six today, without stopping. One full hour of running steady, so help me God. And He did but not how I expected.

I started my run nice and easy, not wanting to putter out a mile five, and cruised around our neighborhood up towards East Campus. Then I pushed through a few of those hills for another two miles, and felt ok. Soon, I headed up to Duke Gardens, and that's when it hit the fan...or rather the pavement. Every step was agony as my feet grew heavier and more leaden. Every breath burned as I suffered up hills and through the gorgeous and fragrent gardens at Duke. All I smelled was hell and sweat. Thoughts of someone's grandma, out for a morning stroll, stumbling across my lifeless body down by the fish pond, the police trying to track down my identity and contacting my next of kin, kept crossing my mind.

This run would be the end of me.

But I kept going, dragging myself home, but still running...kind of.

And how I hurt the day after. My legs, booty, abs, feet, aching aching aching. What was I thinking? This training is just the stupidest thing I've ever done.

Still, the commitment I made outweighed my misery. This was about discipline and perseverance and kicking butt.

So I went out a few days later and ran the 6 miles again, and believe or not, it was easy. It was glorious. It was even fun.

Now I'm up to 9 miles, and still having a blast. My knees ache a little sometimes, but its so worth the pain for time on the pavement, running through my city, talking with my running buddies, and striving after the goal. Come May 30, I think I'll be ready to face the mountain at the Over-the-Mountain Triathlon.

I better be.