As I head out into the cold for my snowy run, I crank up my iPod and try to get moving. Ugh. It’s hard today. My shins hurt, my hands are cold and I have no scarf on, so I’m breathing in icy-cold, stinging air that doesn’t seem to allow my lungs to function properly. I keep going, knowing that I have done this hundreds of times. It’s just one mile for Pete’s sake! I can run one mile. By mile two, I felt warmed, but was still having a hard time catching my breath and had no energy. Although it wasn’t sunny out, I wore sunglasses to protect my eyes from the wet, pinging snow that was blowing towards my face as I ran.
By the end of my second mile, I was ready to call it a day, but then thought better of it. “Awww come on, Julie,” I thought to myself, “You’re already dressed and warmed up, just suck it up and do one more mile.” I knew I didn’t have it in me to do six today, so I pushed onward, knowing this would be the last mile. As I ran this very hard three miles, slowly through the snow, I thought about how I ran this very same route when I attempted to run my first mile just 15 months ago. Even though I have come a long way since then, it just goes to show you that every person has tough days. There’s always going to be a bad run (or workout) that sneaks up on you…when you’re body doesn’t cooperate. When the weather doesn’t cooperate…when you just don’t have the energy in you to keep going.
Over the past two weeks, I’ve had a lot of people contact me with regard to all of the fitness goals I’ve achieved over the past year. Whether it’s due to the New Year and wanting to set resolutions, or whether it’s simply a matter of people wanting to make a change in their lives, they all want to know how I did it. It’s simple really.
I ate better.
I walked.
Then, I ran.
It's that little truth I've discovered over the course of my life: simplicity can be genius. I know that’s really making it sound quite elementary. And in theory, it is. Putting it into action is a bit tougher. But, if telling my story inspires others to make a positive change in their life, then I’m happy to share what I’ve gone through and what I've learned. And…if I can show you that YOU are a runner, then that’s even better. As I've said before, if you have the ability to walk, you have the ability to run. Whether or not you choose to, is up to you. Here’s how the running part of my story started for me.
(And now, imagine those wavy, blurry special effects lines that they use on a T.V. show to take you back in time…) Picture it: it’s October of 2010. Since April, I had been working on eating healthier and I had started a walking regimen. (Stay tuned for future blogs, because I will let you in on some of those secrets too.) I was at the point where I could walk two miles, every day at a relatively brisk pace.
One random fall day, I was thinking about how my fitness level had improved, but was honest with myself and realized that I still had a long way to go, especially in comparison to my fitness level when I was young. (Not that I’m old or anything… I’m only in my 30s. Okay...late 30s.) Anyhow, I thought to myself: if someone offered me a million dollars to run one mile, I couldn’t do it. I would fail. That realization really sucked. Imaginary Ed McMahon would stand there with his big, giant million dollar check and he would laugh in my face. One million dollars and I. Would. Lose.
I would pass out from lack of oxygen or a heart attack. Plus, there’s the fact that I hate running. I mean, I really hate running. Even at my peak physical condition in my late teens, I hated running. It was then that I put a challenge to myself: I wanted to be able to run one mile. That doesn’t sound too hard, right? I mean, I’m a mostly healthy, young(ish) adult, with two completely normal, functioning legs. I should be able to run one mile. What if a knife-wielding madman was chasing me? Or, what if Rob Pattinson suddenly ran down my street? I’d have to be able to chase him down. Uh. I mean… I’d have to be able to run from the crazy madman chasing me with a kitchen knife. Plus, if someone (or imaginary Ed McMahon) really did offer me a million dollars to run one mile, I’d like to be able to do it.
If someone offered you a million dollars, you’d want to win it, right? I can do this.
Can’t I?
I can’t. I can’t do it. Ugh. Here’s what happened: I was too embarrassed to to go running during the daylight. (My God! Someone might see me!) So, I geared up in my black yoga pants and black sweat jacket and headed out at night, under cover of pure darkness. Hey, my running shoes had reflective stuff on them. Plus, I’d stick to the uneven, cracked sidewalks. There were a few streetlights. I’ll make do.
I started off at a nice, slow, easy pace. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. The neighborhood is quiet. All I can hear the pattering of my feet on the sidewalk and the sound of my breathing, which is now becoming labored. My chest hurts. My shins hurt. My feet are pounding the sidewalk like they have bricks attached to them. Wow. This isn’t so graceful. I’m panting pretty hard now and can’t seem to get enough oxygen. (Cough.)
My feet continue to pound the ground hard. (Thud! Thud! Thud!) Can’t. Breathe. (Gasp. Cough!) Chest. Hurts. (Ow.) Must. Stop. (Wheeze, wheeze.) I slow to a walk.
I made it…two blocks.
Two? (Sonofanutcracker!)
This stinks. My shoulders slump in utter defeat. No million dollars for me today. I could just see Mr. McMahon scoffing at me as he tore up my million dollar check. But I press on walking. I round the corner and pick a house in the distance. I tell myself, “When I reach that house, I will start to run (jog) again.” And so it goes for the rest of the longest mile of my life. Jog for minute. Walk for three. Jog for two minutes. Walk for three. Or something like that. I pretty much jogged as far as I could until I thought I would pass out and then I walked until I caught my breath. I finally made it home.
In thirteen minutes and fifty-five seconds.
WHAT?!? I can walk almost that fast. What the hell? I thought for sure it would be under twelve minutes with all that panting and huffing and puffing I was doing. You’d think I just ran a marathon. I was mad. This was disheartening. But the anger worked in my favor. I was determined to get better. After all, an imaginary million dollars is on the line here. So, two nights later, I went out again. I dressed up in my cat burglar uniform and snuck out into the cover of the night skies. I got a little better. I was able to run two-and-a-half blocks before slowing to a walk.
I hate running.
And on and on it went. Every two or three days, I would go out in the cool, crisp fall night and run-walk my mile course. After about five times of this night-time torture, I managed to complete my mile in about twelve minutes and twenty-eight seconds. I was trying to get to a ten-minute mile. At this point, I was clueless and uneducated about the physics of running, so that sounded totally achievable in a few weeks. Right?
Wrong.
Apparently, you have to be thrilled with miniscule, tiny incremental improvements of shaving ten to fifteen seconds off your time. That’s big stuff in the running world. Therefore, trying to cut two-and-a-half minutes off my time was going to take a little longer than I thought. Especially since I haven’t actually ran the entire mile yet. Hmmm. Why must this challenge vex me so?
The days ticked on and November came and one chilly night at the beginning of the month, I did it! I actually ran an entire mile without stopping or walking! It was amazing. It had been about one month since I gave myself the imaginary million dollar challenge of being able to complete a one-mile run, and I DID IT! Hand me my check imaginary Ed McMahon, I just won the prize. I can do it! I can finally do it. It took me just over 12-and-a-half minutes.
It was around this time (the time of my pretend million dollar award), that I clued my friend into my secret running mission. She was really excited because she was a runner and wanted to run with me. She offered to help and train with me and was excited because it would also help with her fitness goals. That didn’t sound too awful to me. Plus, I was pretty clueless about how I should go about my training anyway.
Then I panicked. Uh-oh. That would mean I would have to run in front of somebody. Ugh. Oh well. Time to get over it. So what if I look like doofus? It’s not like my friend is going to disown me because I run like I’m falling down a flight of stairs. Maybe I’ll find out that I have some natural affinity for the sport. (Nah. Probably not.) But I should probably tell you that I come from a family of runners. It wasn’t always that way though...
My brother married a runner; an excellent elite runner, I might add. She has qualified for the Boston Marathon 14 times and chose to run it twice. Gack. I cannot even imagine that. Actually, I can. But I don’t want too. I picture myself standing at the corner where the Cheers bar is and getting trampled by about 20,000 high-tech running shoes on a quaint little cobblestone street and then ending up on a gurney somewhere. In any case, she’s fast. Then, she got my brother to start running. Then, my sister started running. Then, her husband started running. What was going on here? It was like a virus spreading…some sort of outbreak. A crazy, running outbreak. But it wasn’t over yet. My little brother and his wife started running too. Ahhhh! The runners were taking over! I avoided them like the plague.
In case you forgot, I’ll say it again: I hate running. I much prefer the choreography of dance. I danced for years when I was younger and was on the dance team in college. The combination of movement and music using difference muscles, limbs, balance, coordination and posture was so much more interesting to me. So why was I torturing myself with trying to run? A few reasons:
(1) It helped with my weight loss and fitness goals.
(2) It’s a challenge. I love a good challenge.
(3) It makes me feel stronger with measurable improvements;
(4) I really wanted that imaginary million dollars; and
(5) Because I’m easily talked into doing stuff. And with my friend cheering me on, willing to train me, I just couldn’t refuse.
Cue the wavy, blurry time travel lines across the television set again…and flash forward to this morning at the end of my grueling, three mile run in the cold, cold weather…
As I ran up my driveway, I hit the stop button on my watch and scowled. About thirty-four minutes. A disappointing, slow three miles. I blew out a sigh of frustration as I walked up to my side door. Oh well. I covered the distance. Sometimes, that’s all there is to it. My trainer/friend has drilled that into my brain. So I'll tell you the same thing with one added sentiment: get out there and cover the distance, and then give yourself a pat on the back because you did.
I never thought I'd run. I never thought I'd win that imaginary million dollars and I really never thought I'd ever run a half-marathon. Things change. You can change.
And now, please excuse me while I grab a hot shower and some ice packs for my aching shins. Yep, it was a rough run. But tomorrow, or the next day, I get a do-over. That’s the good thing about running: there’s always a do-over. And next time, I’ll be stronger.
**This blog is dedicated to two very important people in my life: Siss, an elite runner, a class-act chick and one of my running heroes; and Cookie, my friend, trainer, coach and confidant. Thank you! **Note: The author realizes that any reference to Ed McMahon is in the figurative sense only. The author respects and pays homage to the legendary and iconic Ed McMahon, who died June 23, 2009.
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