Running, again.

A couple months ago I started running again. I say "again" because when I was in high school I ran cross-country and track. At that time it was the uncool sport. I don't know how many times I got picked on because apparently there was no challenge to the sport and in the case of track all we did was "run around in a circle." I ran cross-country from 7th grade to 11th grade and I did track a couple years in there somewhere. Now everywhere I look people are doing marathons and running for the fun of it. I guess it's what all the cool kids do.

So, yeah, it's been about 13 years since I last ran a 5k. Starting up again has managed to be a challenge in itself. The first time I tried I messed up my knees so bad I couldn't walk five feet without almost passing out from the pain. I don't think I've felt that old in my life. All I could think was that my knees were just going to fall off and I would look like Hank Hill's father. Big bummer. As much as I wanted to work through the pain it was impossible. I took about a month off to recover and come to my senses. Maybe I would realize that I'm too old to start doing something that I did when I was 14. I'd start thinking that and then I would step on the scale and see how much weight I've gained in the past year. To be honest, I have never gained that much weight in such a short amount of time. Not even when I was pregnant. At least when I was pregnant it was a slow gain. This time it was one moment I was 100 pounds and 5 months later I was 130 pounds. I can blame a variety of things on the weight gain - new medicine, a new job, even happiness - but I couldn't help but blame it on myself, like my lack of control towards food and absolutely no exercise. I can see myself turning in to a giant blob in a matter of weeks if I don't do something about it soon.

Two weeks ago I started up, again, for the third time. Needless to say my knees felt like jello every time I went out. It felt like someone was stabbing me under each knee repeatedly. Sounds fun, huh? Not really. I tried to take it a little slower this time for the sake of my sanity and my health. Last night I did my fastest 1.74 miles and was pretty damn proud of myself. Hell, I'll take an eight and a half minute mile any day. I'm no marathoner and I'm still over a mile shy of doing a 5k, but it's a start.

When I think of the stages of my run I obviously can't do it in terms of miles, so I do it in terms of quarter miles. The first quarter mile is horrible. I think I throw up a little in my mouth every time and I swear my heart stopped once or twice. Getting started is actually the worst for me. The next quarter mile my legs are getting warmed up and I feel a bit better because I realized that my heart did not in fact stop. The middle mile feels absolutely fantastic, especially at night. I love running at night. There are fewer eyes watching me look like a fool and then there's the obvious, it's cooler. I think the last stretch only seems hard because I know it's the end and by that time I just want to be done so I can stretch my muscles.

I don't consider myself a runner like I use to because I don't compete and I don't ever plan to again. I have one goal and that's to be able to run three miles straight like I could at one time. I keep telling myself that speed and time shouldn't make a difference but the competitive side of me feel pretty good when I can make them count.

It's only been two weeks and I've only averaged about one and a half miles at a time. I'm trying to be good and not blow out my knees and cripple myself again, but in all honesty it feels good to be active again. I just don't feel like I'm doing anything productive unless I'm sweating like a pig, my muscles are screaming and I'm praying that I'll make it to the end with out collapsing. Common sense knows that's not the case. But damn it, it makes perfect sense in my head!

So if you see my out-of-shape self hobbling down the side walks of Rouses Point with a white dog trying to sprint herself out of her leash just ignore the sad, pathetic sight and move on. I will most likely be to tired to wave and will definitely not have the extra breath to say hello. But hey, I'm one of the cool kids now!