If you've been friends with me for over a year, you know that this was my typical response to people asking me to consider jogging, people talking about their own running endeavors, and my general throwing shade at anyone who actually claimed that they run for enjoyment. It was effective. It made people laugh, I got to continue to be cynical, and most importantly, I didn't have to run.
I grew up believing that I didn't have an athletic body and had more of the personality of someone who stays away from endurance sports. It would be expected of me in a "look-at-me-go" blog entry such as this one to say that I was inhibited by negativity and blame the naysayers. The truth is, I never ran because I didn't want to be a "runner" I was terrified of failing. I had judgments about what I would look like and considered the fact that every time I tried to start a new jogging habit, I quickly retreated into safer territory after it got hard. I couldn't do it so therefore --> why do sane people do this ever and look at them that's so stupid. Those who cannot do, criticize.
Even as I write this I have a ticker tape of thoughts about being "that person that blogs about running" and whether or not anyone really gives a shit. But I suppose if you're still reading, I'll take your foolish blind trust and raise you an attempt to be insightful.
You guys, turns out..... I DON'T HATE RUNNING.
Almost 2 years ago now I gave birth to a person who flipped my world upside down. The process of labor (which, if you continue scrolling through these blog posts, you can read in detail about) called permanent "bullshit" on the concept of telling myself I can't do anything. After giving birth I felt like a mother***ing sorcerer. I rode that high for quite some time and felt invincible.
Sometime around his first birthday, I found myself existing on two emotional planes. One...I was filled with more exhilaration and stupid-happiness in my own home with my little family than I could ever imagine to experience. Two...life within my body felt detached and foreign. I could no longer identify the form I inhabited. It was more than just shape shifting from pregnancy and the blurry months of half assed meals and half as much sleep. It was a genuine disconnection from something that I had felt so in tune with for years.
I would not call this time period dark or depressing because I was so filled with love for my new family that it distracted me from the dissonance. Things got easier after my child slept regularly and did not require as much sacrifice. Spaces in my life began to free up that I forgot existed. Spaces that at first were terrifying because now I really had to be in my body. I didn't have a good reason to neglect it anymore.
I told my husband some random moment between cheerios, poop, and new coos that I felt the birth experience gave me new motivation to do something impossible, like taking up running. Without wavering he simply said, "you can do anything". He really meant it and not in a pumping sunshine up my ass kind of way, either. I think of that almost every day.
8 minutes was my hurdle. All of the times I had tried running in the past I would be able to run 8 minutes and then experience what I can only liken to multiple engine failure and I would screech to a panting halt. I remember being terrified as I peeked through the upcoming weeks in my Couch to 5k app knowing that the dreaded 8 minute long run was approaching.
I will not kid you and say that I swimmingly surpassed the 8 minute roadblock without even breaking a glistening sweat because I was so distracted by the joy of the jog. I struggled and I struggled and it felt impossible. Sometime before the holidays of 2014 I stopped running altogether because, you know, "weather-related excuse". Molly, a friend of mine who can see through my bullshit, asked me to do a 5k with her in early December. I scrolled through my mental rolodex of reasons to avoid this race and I even threw out some excuse about needing to see family. I knew as my thumb hit send on the text message that it was a poor excuse and quickly admitted that I was just scared.
I feel I must pause this dialogue about myself and speak for a moment about my friends. We have been through hell and back together. The singular thought that keeps me going on runs where I feel like a moose that has been punctured in the kidney with an arrowhead is how much badassery I have circling around me with these women. One of them, Jocey, gets a large amount of credit for taking me on as a personal training client and putting up with me cussing her out when she forces me to talk to her during our runs for the "cardiovascular benefits". They all are at the forefront of my mind because they have all achieved amazing feats of physical and emotional strength that keeps me grateful for the positive manifestations of peer pressure.
The race was great. It was a little cold for my taste. I didn't get a terrible time and, of course, the brunch afterward was the best part. And although I look terrible in long sleeve t-shirts, or really t-shirts of any kind, I proudly wore that t-shirt while chugging on the hamster loop at the gym and flirted with calling myself a "runner" for the first time ever.
Ok, so now to switch topics a bit and talk a little about my dad. Shortly after my son was born, my father was admitted to the hospital after a heart monitor picked up some significant heart concerns. He was given a pacemaker, which later got infected and had to be replaced with another device a few weeks later. As I'm typing this I'm realizing that the whole experience is now fitting into one tiny paragraph when really it felt like a decade of slogging for my family.
Part of the process required my dad to stay in the hospital for a week to monitor his infection levels while waiting for the new pacemaker. My mom, who is the most fierce and loyal person I know, was growing weary of finding new ways to convince my dad not to just rip out his IVs and leave. Have I told you that my dad and I can be stubborn at times? I pulled my dad into the hospital hallway (didn't mention that his backless gown had suffered a wardrobe malfunction) and told him that I needed him to stay for the sake of my son. My dad had so many reasons to stick with this process and get healthy but the prospect of not being around to chase his grandson around the park changed something in him.
Then that magical change came around and bit me in the ass because a few months ago, my dad casually drops the bomb that he thinks we should do a half-marathon together. How can you say no to someone with a bucket list item like that!?
True to form, I dodged the issue with sarcasm. I told him I don't like people who are training for things cause that's ALL they talk about. I told him (and myself at some point) that I just wanted to be able to run a 5k and then I would call it quits. I had elaborate philosophical ramblings about why I didn't want to but at the end of the day I was, once again, terrified of failing.
Here is where I will skip some because I don't really know how to describe the change within me over the past few months. We tentatively agreed to do a half marathon together, particularly the Disney Wine and Dine Half Marathon because....Disneyword...duh. Once that race was in my head, I couldn't let it go. I obsessively watched youtube videos of people running the race and they actually appeared to be having fun. I pictured myself crossing the finish line during every run I did, even if it was just a mile and I knew I'd be adding 12 more miles on the day of the race.
About a month ago I geared up to do a 15 minute run around the hamster loop. Again I will reinforce that up until this point, every single run felt like mild torture (but not like, real torture just so everyone knows I'm not making that full comparison). I started running and kept waiting for the torture to set in...and kept waiting...and kept waiting...and it didn't so I kept going....and going.... and going....
I ran for 35 minutes that day. I finished tired but not depleted. I felt amazing. For the first time I really believed that I could run this half marathon.
By no means am I an expert nor do I think I will ever fully understand or believe in some type of opiate-like runners high that so many people claim is real. But I feel so good to be able to do something I told myself I would never do. People have commented on physical changes within my body but what they cannot see and what drives me to lace up and go out every other day more than anything is that I feel connected to myself again. If you would have told me 2 years ago that running would be the thing to do this for me, I would have laughed in your face and probably judged you a little bit. I'm as surprised as anyone.
I'm not fighting it. I'm embracing it. I'm having a great time.
AAAAND here's where I'm going to ask you for money. Full disclosure. I apologize if you feel used now that you've spent so much time with me in this blog entry but I don't care that much because it's for a great cause.
In order for us to do this race together, we must raise $1500 by October of this year. The race is this November. We have selected St. Jude's as our charity and are excited to have a reason beyond our own life circumstances to finish this race.
Our team name is "Pacemaker and a Babymaker". Artistic credit goes to Beth for coming up with the name. Here's the link to donate.
If you can't give money, I welcome any encouraging words or running tips because I still feel like I don't really know what to expect or how to overcome the difficult runs. If you see me run by your house and my face is all red, I'm not dying, my body just does that instead of sweating sometimes.
And most importantly, if you have a fear of running or anything else, join me in calling resounding "bullshit" and do something that is scary.
Thanks for listening.
No comments:
Post a Comment