"Call...(gasp)...911...(gasp)...I need (gasp gasp) an ambulance..." These were the words I uttered as my fellow classmates ran past me in the spring of 5th grade as we ran our mile run for the Presidential Fitness awards in gym class. What can I say I've always had a flare for the dramatic?!
I do remember that run as if it were yesterday. My family had just returned from from Madagascar. Prior to going to Madagascar I had been doing gymnastics nine hours a week and then practicing in all my spare time. I had no problems with the Presidential Fitness challenges. Then I got tendonitis and we moved to a land where gymnastics was nonexistent. I dreamed of starting my own gymnastics club there, not feasible for an eleven year old. In my many acts of 4th and 5th grade rebellion I participated less and less in gym class. I complained about every activity we did. I was lazy.
I paid for every second of my laziness when we got back to the US. I remember feeling embarrassed and mad at myself. I also remember that I HATED running. I got back into gymnastics, my beloved sport, and slowly improved in the fitness department. I never did like running, but by the time I was in 7th grade I had the fastest mile run in my gym class. My gym teacher even proclaimed to my mom at conferences that I ran pretty fast "for a girl!" Shame on him...
When High School ended, so did my participation in gymnastics. I found myself in a predicament much like I had in Madagascar. However, this time I had a bit more perspective. I realized that throughout my time in the sport of gymnastics I'd always had a coach dictating my conditioning. I had to work out because they told me to. Every push up, sit up, mandatory lap around the field or runs up and down the hill outside our gym was decided upon by someone else. Believe me I complained, but I always had a coach pushing me. I loved the sport so I let them do it.
Suddenly, I had to develop self motivation. My excuses were many, and this time I didn't have a coach to tell me I was ridiculous and to just put my energy into the task at hand. I ran off and on in college. I had some moderate success, but mostly I continued to be the queen of excuses. It is amazing how many reasons can be invented to NOT run, or not finish a run.
Mostly, I've had a hate relationship with running. I started it because it was a cheap and efficient work out, and I like the bodies of those that ran. I never considered myself a runner. I spent a lot of runs contracting with myself to make it just a little further. Rarely would I finish the distance I'd intended. Gradually, I found that running is a major mind game for me. Lo and behold when I told myself I couldn't do it, I didn't.
This week I made a breakthrough. I had worked myself into a tizzy fretting about our basement project. My nails were gone and there was no chocolate in the house. I had a whiny daughter and a moping dog. Nick was sleeping and our house felt claustrophobic. I needed to get out. I've been running a lot more this spring than I have in years, and on this particular day I knew I needed to run.
With Briony strapped into the jogger and Sadie on leash at my side we hit the pavement. I let my legs travel our route and then two miles into our run I realized I hadn't once thought about how out of breath I was, or the sweat that was forming on my face. I hadn't even told myself to "just run to the next street light." I had not once thought about how much work it was to run, instead I had completely lost myself in other thoughts. I was feeling better. Briony was quiet and waving at the passerby's and Sadie's tongue was satisfyingly hanging out the side of her mouth.
That's when I realized that this is what people talk about when they love running. I'd only rarely experienced this in my eleven years of running attempts. I stepped up my pace that day, ran a little longer than usual and came home ready to run again tomorrow.
Yesterday was national running day. I didn't know it until after my run, but was proud that I'd been out. I am starting to see that it is addictive. It feels good. I don't run far or fast. I sometimes wish that my runs didn't always have to include the strong willed dog or the beefy baby jogger, but I don't plan on trading in my cheer squad either.
Like many things lately, and perhaps what the purpose of this blog has always been, I found that changing my perspective a little has improved my willingness to get out there. This week I've tried to think of running as more of a privilege than a chore.
I remain reluctant to call myself a runner, but I am working on it. When I think of the die hard runners in my life, I hope I don't offend them. I truly only run my little four mile loop several times a week, and on the days Nick joins us he is reminded that I can be painstakingly slow. However, I can honestly say now that I love it. I've made good progress in the past few months and am proud of my physical accomplishments. Even more rewarding though has been overcoming the huge mental barrier I've had with running for all these years. It's amazing what kind of progress is made when I stop telling myself I can't. I've come a long ways since that fifth grade self was ready to give up.
I thought I'd conclude with a quote I stole off a dedicated runner's facebook page. This quote has stuck with me the past months since I saw it and has encouraged me to get out there and just do it...maybe it can do the same for someone else. "If you run, you are a runner. It doesn't matter how fast or how far. It doesn't matter if today is your first day or if you've been running for twenty years. There is no test to pass, no license to earn, no membership card to get. You just run." -John Bingham
I do remember that run as if it were yesterday. My family had just returned from from Madagascar. Prior to going to Madagascar I had been doing gymnastics nine hours a week and then practicing in all my spare time. I had no problems with the Presidential Fitness challenges. Then I got tendonitis and we moved to a land where gymnastics was nonexistent. I dreamed of starting my own gymnastics club there, not feasible for an eleven year old. In my many acts of 4th and 5th grade rebellion I participated less and less in gym class. I complained about every activity we did. I was lazy.
I paid for every second of my laziness when we got back to the US. I remember feeling embarrassed and mad at myself. I also remember that I HATED running. I got back into gymnastics, my beloved sport, and slowly improved in the fitness department. I never did like running, but by the time I was in 7th grade I had the fastest mile run in my gym class. My gym teacher even proclaimed to my mom at conferences that I ran pretty fast "for a girl!" Shame on him...
When High School ended, so did my participation in gymnastics. I found myself in a predicament much like I had in Madagascar. However, this time I had a bit more perspective. I realized that throughout my time in the sport of gymnastics I'd always had a coach dictating my conditioning. I had to work out because they told me to. Every push up, sit up, mandatory lap around the field or runs up and down the hill outside our gym was decided upon by someone else. Believe me I complained, but I always had a coach pushing me. I loved the sport so I let them do it.
Suddenly, I had to develop self motivation. My excuses were many, and this time I didn't have a coach to tell me I was ridiculous and to just put my energy into the task at hand. I ran off and on in college. I had some moderate success, but mostly I continued to be the queen of excuses. It is amazing how many reasons can be invented to NOT run, or not finish a run.
Mostly, I've had a hate relationship with running. I started it because it was a cheap and efficient work out, and I like the bodies of those that ran. I never considered myself a runner. I spent a lot of runs contracting with myself to make it just a little further. Rarely would I finish the distance I'd intended. Gradually, I found that running is a major mind game for me. Lo and behold when I told myself I couldn't do it, I didn't.
This week I made a breakthrough. I had worked myself into a tizzy fretting about our basement project. My nails were gone and there was no chocolate in the house. I had a whiny daughter and a moping dog. Nick was sleeping and our house felt claustrophobic. I needed to get out. I've been running a lot more this spring than I have in years, and on this particular day I knew I needed to run.
With Briony strapped into the jogger and Sadie on leash at my side we hit the pavement. I let my legs travel our route and then two miles into our run I realized I hadn't once thought about how out of breath I was, or the sweat that was forming on my face. I hadn't even told myself to "just run to the next street light." I had not once thought about how much work it was to run, instead I had completely lost myself in other thoughts. I was feeling better. Briony was quiet and waving at the passerby's and Sadie's tongue was satisfyingly hanging out the side of her mouth.
That's when I realized that this is what people talk about when they love running. I'd only rarely experienced this in my eleven years of running attempts. I stepped up my pace that day, ran a little longer than usual and came home ready to run again tomorrow.
Yesterday was national running day. I didn't know it until after my run, but was proud that I'd been out. I am starting to see that it is addictive. It feels good. I don't run far or fast. I sometimes wish that my runs didn't always have to include the strong willed dog or the beefy baby jogger, but I don't plan on trading in my cheer squad either.
Like many things lately, and perhaps what the purpose of this blog has always been, I found that changing my perspective a little has improved my willingness to get out there. This week I've tried to think of running as more of a privilege than a chore.
I remain reluctant to call myself a runner, but I am working on it. When I think of the die hard runners in my life, I hope I don't offend them. I truly only run my little four mile loop several times a week, and on the days Nick joins us he is reminded that I can be painstakingly slow. However, I can honestly say now that I love it. I've made good progress in the past few months and am proud of my physical accomplishments. Even more rewarding though has been overcoming the huge mental barrier I've had with running for all these years. It's amazing what kind of progress is made when I stop telling myself I can't. I've come a long ways since that fifth grade self was ready to give up.
I thought I'd conclude with a quote I stole off a dedicated runner's facebook page. This quote has stuck with me the past months since I saw it and has encouraged me to get out there and just do it...maybe it can do the same for someone else. "If you run, you are a runner. It doesn't matter how fast or how far. It doesn't matter if today is your first day or if you've been running for twenty years. There is no test to pass, no license to earn, no membership card to get. You just run." -John Bingham
