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  Running

 

The miracle is not that I finished...the miracle is that I had the courage to start.
(John "The Penguin" Bingham)

 

These words have sustained me. I didn't realize they could do this at first. In the beginning, I simply thought it a Profound Statement, a Tidbit of Truth. But as the miles pile up behind me, as I've struggled to prepare for a race only to have to miss it due to being sick, I've come to understand even better that what is important in our lives is not the destination, but the journey.

I'm definitely not the athletic type. I was active enough throughout childhood and adolescence, rode a bicycle everywhere and peripherally participated in the summer swim team at our country club, but put out regular effort and then compete in front of other people? Not me. I preferred to spend my time buried in books.

Always an "office worker", when I first went online it didn't take long to realize that the time I spent sitting had increased to truly amazing quantities. Of course this did nothing for my health and I returned to the previously and regularly enjoyed activity of walking the dog, under the pretext of getting out to clear my head. As well as giving the poor dog a break.

I don't know why and only remember it was very early in the spring when I decided to try to run. Out on what had become a near-daily power walk, I sprang forward eagerly. But it only took a few steps to be told by my body in no uncertain terms that this was not going to be a sustainable activity. Mortified and out of breath, we walked the rest of the block. And the next block. By now, my inner competitor had awakened and urged me to run a few steps again. So I did. And was once again mortified and out of breath.

But something changed inside of me that day. The months of walking had done their job and even the brief pushes to a jog were enough to kick up endorphins. Learning to run became my goal. And like all newbies, I pursued it with fiendish determination. And also learned about the importance of having proper running shoes - cross trainers may let you dash across a street but they are not meant for serious mileage. Not even one single serious mile.

So it was off to a sporting goods store for my first pair of real running shoes. They aren't kidding when they tell you the right shoe makes things easier. Though I was still struggling and it would be another month before I was able to run a whole mile without stopping, I found that my endurance and distance increased far more comfortably when properly shod.

The day I ran that first whole mile without stopping remains a highlight achievement. Not that it wasn't one of the hardest things I've ever done, but for one who has always lacked stamina, to push through that wall and reach that first goal felt wonderful. I savored it and was delighted to repeat it regularly. Then it was time to push the wall again.

I got serious. I got dedicated. I got up most every morning at 4:30 a.m. that summer and hit the road with the dog. The still, cooler air and quietness of pre-dawn remains my favorite time to run. Those "ambrosial hours", as they are referred to by some yogis, allow me to enter "the zone" and just float along for most of the run. And cranking up those endorphins is definitely a great kick-start to the day. Eventually I was able to run 5K (3.2 miles) and entered my first race that fall.

My only goals for this race were to run the whole thing without stopping and to finish in under 30 minutes. I managed to reach both, but just barely. On the advice of a coworker who ran with me, we started out at the front of the pack and I spent the first mile trying desperately to block out the sight and sounds of what seemed like every other person there passing me. And of course I ended up running that first mile far too quickly. By the 2.5 mile mark I was moving along on nothing but sheer willpower. The best part was when it was all over and quite honestly, I had serious doubts I'd ever do a race again.

But I continued to run and it was then only for me. Through the rain or snow, regardless how cold or wet, I plowed along and to my surprise found that when the weather broke and spring arrived again, my time decreased quite nicely all on its own due to the buildup of strength required to maintain some semblance of pace and footing in the snow. I began to entertain thoughts about running the fall race again. Then one day I began to train for it.

This training consisted of increasing my mileage. Long Sunday runs got longer and so did most of the weekday runs. I remember running 6 miles for the first time - SIX MILES. Took an hour but what an hour! I continued to log the miles and found increasing satisfaction in my new-found abilities.

The day of the fall race drew near and I knew was ready for it. Nervous, yes, but sure I could get out there and do a personal best. I even had a shot at placing in my age group this time. But I woke up feeling sick the day before the race. And the day of the race. Scheduled to fly out of town that evening, I decided that my health was more important than my pride and so stayed home. Feeling guilty. Feeling a little disappointed. (My coworker didn't run either due to a knee injury. So at least I wasn't alone.)

I did end up very sick by the end of the following week. A virus knocked me flat for two weeks and it was another two weeks after that before I ventured out to run again. And I found that all I had gained during my summer training had disappeared. Even one mile was a real struggle. A job change at this same time threw my whole schedule out of whack, too; eventually I realized I was only running one day a week. For a while, I didn't even care. I knew I should be getting outside more often but my motivation seemed to have gone AWOL. I was almost glad; guess after working so hard then being so sick I needed a break.

But running had taken root and was still a habit, even though it seemed buried pretty deeply. And as life turns in its circles, one day I simply knew I had to get out and run. So I did. And though it was hard, and I had to take walking breaks, it was only the doing that mattered and I found it easier to take the time to get out more regularly. And with that regularity came the celebration of going a mile without stopping, then two. Everything I'd worked for so hard hadn't disappeared completely after all. That was a reassuring thought in and of itself.

So I get up and I go out. And I run. At my own pace, no longer caring so much about how fast or beating the previous run's time. I go for the rythm, the benefits of the movement. I go so my clothes continue to fit better, so I have more energy. I go because 95% of Americans don't get any kind of exercise at all and so even on my "bad days" that makes me a goddess!

I had the courage to start. Again, and again. And, that is, indeed, a miracle.

If you're nosy, you can view my personal running log HERE. My personal goal for 2001 is to run 400 miles and I've found that detailing my sessions helps me stay motivated. Also, this is a great site at which to keep track of things.

 

 

 

 

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