As I got a bit older, there was a day near and dear to my heart every year, field day. The day where I could show my stuff to everyone, and beat all the shorties with my long runner legs. I routinely came home with ribbons noting me as the winner.
When I got a bit older, my dad, to get more health conscious began running 5K races to push himself into competition, and keep his running up. After one such race I decided I got tired of just being on the sidelines and entered it too with my brother. That first race, a 1K (decidedly small by my running standards now) made me realize how much harder race and road running was, as I watched my brother beat me to the finish. Angry, but enthusiastic about running in a more competitive sense, my desire to continue running was sparked on that day.
In high school, I kept up my love of running by joining cross country my freshman year. I had always thought I was a good runner, I had the tall legs for it. Reality set in that year, when I realized the best runners on the team, the seniors didn't have size on their side, they had form, they had fluidity, they had the desire to want to succeed through training. Something I never had. I quit Cross Country after that year, but kept up with my running through track in the spring. Quicker sprints, but equally as challenging to do training runs, our coach (who was also my basketball coach) cruising by in her car to taunt us if we slacked.
I slacked off for many years after my high school days when it came to running. In college riding my bike or walking to class mattered more, and running, didn't hold a candle to my "adopted" hobby of hanging out with friends and partying. My love of a good run to clear my head was dropped, for so many years.
Last year, in an effort to slim down on many years of supersizing, I took up running again. Forcing myself to do race after race (when training consisted of doing gym time, and actual race running took place outside of a gym. I completed over 20 races last year. A proud accomplishment in my book.
So when we moved, I knew this love of running, this desire to succeed, had to move with me. I had to make time to enjoy and train for this sport. I had to force myself outside of my comfort zone, to befriend my office comrades, who like myself had been running, and running, although not sure for what.
Since May, we have been "training" for a 1/2 marathon that is now, a week and a few days away (YIPES). My legs reflect this training. More times this year, I have ran through knee pains, tight calf muscles, shin splints of epic proportions, blisters in odd places (I seem to have developed one lately on my baby toe, and one underneath another toenail)., and a shoulder injury (which of course was NOT related to running). I tend to vacillate between days I absolutely LOVE getting a run in, and days where I wish I could just go to McDonald's, go home and eat..and veg to do NOTHING. Do I really need to run?
The answer is yes, I do. I do it because deep down, I do love a good run. Regardless of the crazy grimace that might adorn my face (I always look like I am on the verge of tears, or ready to tear someone's head off when I run.) I chalk it up to intense concentration, and a bit of a reaction to slight pain), I run on. I run because for that brief 3 mile, 5 mile, 9 mile jog, I am at one with my music, with my surroundings. I can think about what ever I want to (which is mostly my paranoia having me think about my running form), come up with solutions to something that might be bugging me, or shrug away the intensity of a hard day, or a bad fight with family and friends, and live, just in that moment of that run....for the basic love of the run.
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