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Running
Duck face. Fish face. Cow-slowly-dying-in-extreme-agony face. I've rocked all these looks during a race, if my race photos are to be believed. Slouchy shoulders, wide open and gasping mouth, and brick-like feet slogging along the pavement: these aren't exactly the looks you want to pay money for and hang next to shiny medals or put on your office desk.
I am terrible at the starting line. Months of training for a half marathon and this was the second time I was late to the starting line. I woke up late, changed clothes, grabbed my gear, got out the door as fast as possible, hoped I wouldn't get stuck at a red light, and drove as fast as was reasonable. Of course being late meant all the parking lots near the starting line were full, so I parked in a garage halfway across town and ran 0.67 miles (I mapped it) to the starting line. I literally had 30 seconds between arriving at the start line and the start...
I did not want to run this weekend. I'd spent time and energy doing other things - cleaning up a state park and camping - and I just was not feeling the whole run 13 miles thing.
Now that I've been running consistently for a while, I've taken particular enjoyment from one specific aspect of the sport - not the cute running outfits or the race bling or the metrics and pace times. It's the feeling of fitness and strength knowing that I am stronger and that I can do more and more. It's running 11 miles in the morning and then playing soccer in the evening and not feeling like I've been run over by a train. It's hiking all day and coming home quiet and content, but not completely drained. It's the confidence that I could keep going, the simple affirmation of I CAN.
"Hmm, do you think replacing my 10-mile long run with a 22-mile backpacking trip this weekend will be sufficient?" Based on how my legs feel (the words "ow" and "jelly" come to mind) I'd say yes! Of course running 10 miles is a completely different mental experience than backpacking 10 miles. Or is it? Here are a few things the two activities have in common.
On Sunday night after the US Olympic Marathon Trials, some painful first aid for a soccer injury, and a long blog-writing session, I stared at the computer screen, trying to disengage and get ready or bed. It's never easy to shut down, to quit for the day, and I found myself aimlessly clicking through email - deleting promos, ignoring reminders, and skipping over other junk. But suddenly something caught my eye: a final reminder for some swag if I register for a local race. Oh man. Register for the race! It wasn't that I needed the swag exactly (though who can resist an ultra-soft running tee with a cute design?), but rather it reminded me that I wasn't registered for a spring race yet. I'd run the Krispy Kreme Challenge, sure, but that's more "fun run" than PR-seeking race. I checked my calendar and then checked it again. I knew the races some of my friends had planned, and there was still time to train for those events.
2400 calories. 12 doughnuts. 5 miles. 1 hour. The first time I heard about the Krispy Kreme Challenge was seven years ago when I was a college sophomore. On Saturday I ran the race for the third time. Details in the post!
A couple weeks ago at a new (to me) yoga class, the instructor was helping me with a pose when she glanced down at my feet and actually gasped with horror.
"Is that from running? It looks like a running injury," she asked me as nicely as possible after a quick recovery of her composure.
