All Things Woompty

When I drive home from work in the evenings, there are always people on the trails and sidewalks in my neighborhood running and jogging. Older people, younger people, pairs and singles and groups, people with dogs, people with strollers. We are a very active suburban neighborhood is what I’m saying.

I like seeing the runners and joggers. Some of them are graceful and gazelleish in their running shorts; they are beautiful to watch, and I am always jealous of how easily they run. But others of them are like me: middle aged, a little pudgy, a little jiggly, not fast, but stubborn. Stubborn, and out there running.

I started running for reals in July, because in June my friend asked me if I wanted to run a half marathon with her in January. Before, I had done a few 5K runs that involved more walking than running, things I didn’t train for and attacked without any strategy or training. But a half marathon is Serious Stuff, so I signed up with a training group and told everyone I was doing it and then I registered because if I already paid for it, I’m more likely to do it. And then I started running.

And oh my lord it sucked at first. It hurt and I couldn’t breathe and I thought my head might explode. But it was exactly what I needed when I started up at the end of July, because I was not fit for group exercise since I was still angry and sorrowful and by and large just had no patience for people. But running was something I could do all by myself. It’s me versus me.

And then I figured out that running doesn’t have to hurt, that there are methods other than going out there and running until I pass the fuck out. I decided to start trying out the interval method and found out that when I do 4 minute run/1 minute walk intervals I can run a lot farther than I thought I could.

I did 4 miles, 5 miles, 6 miles. I hurt my leg and researched ways to get back out on the road as soon as possible. And then I went out and ran 7 miles and it sucked. So I ran 7 miles again and it sucked less. And last week, I ran 8 miles in less than two hours and afterwards I felt fanfuckingtastic. I was sore but nothing hurt in a bad way. I’m still not fast by any means but I am faster than I thought I could ever be.

I am a runner. I have worn out a pair of running shoes (but that’s okay because I have 3 more pairs of my favorite Brooks shoe in reserve). My Garmin is pretty much my favorite thing ever. I am constantly on the lookout for sales on my favorite sports bra. I wear special double layer socks that cost more than any socks should cost. I eat weird electrolyte-laden gummy things while I run.

And oh, I look funny. I look so hilarious, you guys. I am sweaty and red and gaspy and jiggly. My hydration belt (look, it’s a fancy fanny pack with a water bottle attached) goes around my waist in the exact spot that makes my belly look even poochier than usual. My running pants show off every lumpy part of my ass. This picture right here? Totally sums it up:

And yet, somehow I have gotten past caring about what I look like. Friends keep asking me “why the heck are you doing this?”

Well, here’s why: I run because my husband’s ex-girlfriend dropped dead of sudden heart failure at the age of 32.  I run because I love having super high HDL counts on my cholesterol tests and exercise helps raise them. I run because Jackie’s dead and she’ll never run again. I run because my mom has a hard time even walking through a store because of her pain issues. I run because at one point I couldn’t even WALK a mile without wanting to pass out. I run because I am so, so jealous of those people who have been running their whole lives and have perfect strides. I run because I can, and I don’t want to forget how powerful and miraculous it is that I can go out there and do this thing that I never used to be able to do.

When I am out there and things are working right and nothing hurts and the rhythm of my feet on the sidewalk matches the rhythm of the music I am listening too, I lose my vanity. I don’t care who sees me with a red, sweaty face. I don’t care that oh my god, I kind of stink. I don’t care that yes, my gut is hanging out and my butt is bouncing like WHOA and I am the funniest thing you’ve seen all day. All I care about is beating my time from yesterday, and running just a little bit further than last time. Running is hard and sometimes it’s painful and sometimes it sucks SO BAD.

And I think I’m falling in love with it.