Could I Possibly Be Any Slower?!

My husband liked to tease me when I first started "running".  He used to say that he could walk as fast as I ran.  And it was true, too, but at the time I would think, "So? At least I can keep it up for a while."  And I also thought that in time I would get fitter, stronger, and faster.  Fast forward seven years, and in the place of that runner stands a thin, wiry, fit woman who easily keeps up a nine minute per mile pace for four miles.

Er...not quite.

Before I go any farther in this musing, I would like to state three things: a)I KNOW it doesn't matter how fast I go, just as long as I get there. b) I KNOW I will become faster and stronger as long as I continue working hard. c) This is NOT a whiny showcase of low self-esteem.  You don't have to encourage me with a "No, you're doing great!" although those comments go a LONG WAY in helping me continue.  No, this is just a field note about where I am in this journey, and it will help me appreciate how far I've come when I get to my destination.

So back to the thin, wiry, fit woman.  I'll be the first to say I am neither thin (well rounded is how I like to describe myself,) wiry (more like stout,) and my "race pace" is a blistering twelve minutes per mile on a good run.  

I suppose it does bear saying that I had two long breaks in my seven year running career.  The first was when my daughter Mia was born in 2005.  I probably didn't get back into the rhythm of running for at least a year.  Then in 2007, when my second daughter Nikki was born, I quit running for another year.  In the summer of 2008 I joined a gym and started weight training, took a few group exercise classes, and around February of this year got on the treadmill and started slowly cranking up the speed.  And by "cranking up" I mean starting off at 4.0, then 4.5, then 5.0...two miles in 30 minutes, two miles in 28 minutes...I remember how much I worked to get my two miles down to 24 minutes or so.  I should add, however, that this was with a quarter mile or so of walking to warm up.  Then, in May of this year, I saw the little blurb in the People's Church bulletin..."Think you could never run a marathon?  Well, you can!"   That was all I needed, that and a little prayer to push me completely out of my running comfort zone and into the world of half marathon training.

It's both exhilarating and intimidating to train with a group.  A person finds out she's not the only runner in the world.  She also finds out she's not the fastest, or the slowest (if you include the walkers, God bless their souls,) the most fit, or the most out of shape.  But it certainly is an eye opener when you think you've been working hard and realize you are probably one of the slowest, if not THE slowest, runner in the group.  

I've been lapped several times by the trainers when out at the track.  Yes, these are the trainers, the "elite" of our little group.  But I've also watched in dismay during a Saturday run as an older lady with a bum knee slowly pulled away from me, then disappeared.  I was passed last week by just about everyone running the five miles, and some even doing the six, even though I turned back early out of concern for a friend.  I gasp on intervals at an 8mph pace.  I run out of gas so quickly on striders it's almost like someone pricked a balloon with a pin and *pffpfffffff*....aaand she's down!  

But I will continue on.  On my last run at the gym in my brand new shoes I did three miles in under 40 minutes, even though it felt like I had two concrete blocks strapped to my feet (more on that in the next post.)  So I am doing better.  I can go farther, if not all that much faster.  I can do the "warm ups"- although for me it's more of a workout-the skipping, high knee running, etc., with Roland fairly easily.  I can puff through a few 200m intervals at, say, an 8:30 minute pace fairly well.  I think I'm getting faster on the Saturday runs, although it's nearly impossible to tell for sure how far I go.  

So I'm not going to quit.  I'm not going to quit, and I'm going to continue trying to up my speed.  I may not be fast in my legs, but I'm fast in my mind.  And someday, the two just might meet up.  The fastest I've ever run a mile was in junior high when I was on the volleyball team.  A monumental 9:27 minute mile.  It was such an accomplishment I remember the time to this day.  And if I can ever do that again, I'm sure the time will be locked into my brain with all of my other hard earned accomplishments, large or small.

I was on Runner'sworld.com the other day and was reading John "The Penguin" Bingham's blog about running for no one else but yourself.  He'd said he was finishing a half marathon and was nearing the finish line when the crowd started cheering.  "What!" he thought.  "Are they cheering for me?" Then he realized the leader of the marathon runners was about to cross the finish line ahead of him.  But John didn't let this bother him.  He realized his accomplishment of finishing the half was just as remarkable as the other man's winning the marathon.  After all, he stated, "The miracle wasn't that I finished.  The miracle was that I had the courage to start."

Until the next run...

Coming soon..."Adidas vs. Brooks: Finding the Perfect Shoe"

Sunrise, Sunset

I have a love/hate relationship with Saturday mornings now.  First day of the weekend, Tony's off work, meeting the other MASHers for a nice long run.  What's not to love?  On the other hand, getting up at 5:45am, driving twenty minutes, meeting the other MASHers for a nice long run.  

When I was in school I hated getting up in the mornings.  Anything before ten o' clock was too early, and I would habitually stay in bed until the very last minute before throwing back the covers, washing up, eating, and running out the door to the carpool/bus stop/car.  It got to the point where, if I didn't get at least seven hours of sleep (preferably nine) I would be bleary eyed for most of the morning and have uncomfortable knots in my stomach until I got to take a nap after school.

So voluntarily waking BEFORE six in the morning was inconceivable to me just a few short weeks ago!  Oh, I would wake early for college classes, and later, for work as a teacher at an elementary school, but neither commitment got me out of bed before six-thirty.  I would schedule most college classes for mid-morning and was blessed with only a ten to fifteen minute commute to work, thus allowing me to continue the stay-in-bed-until-the-last-possible-minute routine.

I must admit I found out about the 6:30am Saturday morning long runs only AFTER I had signed up with MASH.  But, surprisingly, there was only a moment of "What have I done?"  I consoled myself by remembering that I could nap later in the day, or even in mid-morning, since Tony would be able to watch the girls.  

I never realized before just how beautiful sunrises are.  I've seen countless sunsets; those in my parent's neighborhood as the sun set over the empty bluffs were amazing.  I've seen the sun set on the California coast and off the shores of Hawaii, where a dazzling white line skims the top of the sun as it sinks seemingly into the water.  But I may have seen one, maybe two sunrises, and these I don't remember.  

There seems to be a different look to a sunrise as compared to a sunset.  Sunrises are brighter, with more whites and pinks and grays reflecting off of the clouds, if any.  Sunsets are more orange and red and yellow and fade quickly into the dark that follows on its heels.  Both are beautiful, both stir something in the soul, both remind me of God's presence in the world.  

When I drive eastward towards the sunrise I am struck with the realization of how many things a person can miss when the box we have carved in the world stays closed.  What passes us by when we make no effort to change, to try, to succeed.  When I step out of my car into the chilly dawn air I realize that yes, I did wake before six in the morning, and yes, I have survived.   And then I wonder, what other things am I capable of?

Coming soon..."Could I Possibly Be Any Slower?!"