The accidental runner

There are those people who began running as kids, maybe in a sport that involved some element of running like soccer or baseball.  They either really liked the excitement of going fast, or they felt they were faster than most and it made them feel good, or they just liked the exertion of it.  Others maybe picked it up as teenagers in high school track or in college to avoid the added weight that comes with their freshman year.

I am none of those examples.  I am an accidental runner.  In truth, I did do track my seventh grade year in junior high school.  I liked the high jump and the long jump because I'm tall and it gave me an edge.  I liked the relay because I was very fast for a very short distance.  Most important to me: I could grab a decent amount of First Place ribbons while only exerting myself for very short bursts at a time.  Track was mostly about hanging out after school and goofing off with my friends.  My biggest goal of track was to learn to land ON the mat after the high jump, rather than next to it (note: the Fosbury flop is not comfortable when one lands on the hard ground next to the cushioned landing pad).  My second biggest goal of track was to try to get out of the running part whenever possible. 

I did cross country exactly one season and absolutely hated it.  My memory bank fires up a blast from the past like it was yesterday.  I'm set to run the 3 mile course through and around my junior high school.  It's a hot, dry day in northern California.  The sun blazes down on the track and field areas where they've roped off a makeshift course.  It's right after school and I have no snacks with me to propel me from the school day through to sports because my mother was a full time working mom who was devoted to the notion that I should be able to basically take care of myself, including having the forethought to pack food if I knew I was staying for sports.  I did not yet possess such forethought, but I have no doubt it contributed to my later, more mature ability to plan ahead.  My mom lived this notion fully, out of necessity from her hectic lifestyle that left her little time to consider much beyond the immediate tasks she juggled each day.  At that point in my existence, my food needs were not high on her list of concerns.  This day provided a much needed lesson about planning from the school of hard knocks.  So the net result is that I'd had a bowl of cereal in the 8 hours leading up to the race.  Thus, I'm lined up at the starting line to run cross country for the team in a somewhat diminished capacity of my own making.  

The starting gun goes off and I'm feeling pretty good. Those surges of energy you get from race day were in full force and my adrenaline was flowing.  I was an energetic kid who had an easy time in sports just because I seemed to be wired for it with a strong body and a high pain threshold.  So I'm holding my spot at the front of the pack, just listening to my feet pounding the grass and hearing my breath getting louder and louder in my ears.  At 2 miles in, my breathing is all I can hear.  My face is on fire and I'm hacking up lung oysters.  My throat is burning. I'm sucking wind like a pack a day smoker. Every cell in my body is begging me to stop.   But I knew the pack was looming closer, and my strong will propelled me forward.  I wasn't smart about training, wasn't good about preparing (just like my lack of forethought for food, I was equally dense when it came to practicing with any purpose in mind).  All that was coming to a point in this race. 

About 100 yards from the finish, my teammate passed me.  On the one hand, at least it was a teammate.  On the other hand, I really hated to lose.  I had a competitive streak a mile wide and it just frosted my bun that she had enough punch at the end to hit the afterburners and sail by.  She was about a foot smaller than I was, still built like a young boy, and she just zoomed right by.  I imagined her feeling fresh, barely sweating, smugly able to hold a lengthy conversation as she passed. I imagined her lungs were relaxed, easily pushing oxygen in and out while mine were ready to burst.  I held strong and was able to take a disappointing second place finish.  Most importantly, I felt like I was going to die!

I made my way to the table where they'd set up Dixie cups of ice water and was standing there like a survivor on a deserted island who just found the one waterfall.  Cup after cup, I'm sucking them down, when I notice an 8th grade boy standing next to me looking absolutely disgusted as he glances at my beet red, blotchy face. He's this cute, older boy, with dark brown hair that flips up at his collar and he has these amazing brown puppy dog eyes.  Those eyes slowly slid down my body and came to rest at my waist.  I looked down and to my horror saw that one of the loogies I'd hacked up on the course was splatted and smeared across my track jersey.  Ah, a humiliating end to a crappy race.

So that's my earliest memory of running distance.  Not a great starter.  So it's not a surprise that I spent the rest of my formative years firmly rooted in the notion that I was not a runner and would never be one. 

Fast forward thirty years.  Think of that, for thirty years I'd identified myself as a non-runner! To say I was deeply rooted in my non-runner status would be an understatement.  But motherhood had isolated me and the doldrums of being a stay home mom had me missing my athletic self.  Most days, I didn't even speak to a human being outside my family except for passing niceties at a store or occasional chit chat at the monthly PTA meeting.  Our school district decided to host a 5k race to raise funds for the schools.  There were some ladies with whom I shared the common bond of isolated motherhood.  Equally self-proclaimed non-runners, they were forming a couch to 5k running group.  It was free and it was during the hours my kids were in school.  Borne of desperation for adult human interaction, I was in a running group.  

Fast forward again, a few more years.  I've stuck with running, and it's become a part of me.  My running is as much about how it makes me feel -- athletic, strong, connected to myself -- as it is about getting out with a group of people in my community and forging relationships.  If I have to run to justify the time spent chatting about every topic under the sun, then so be it.  If I have to run to justify getting out of the house just to hang with my friends, then so be it.  And the side benefits are amazing.  I've got a whole community of people I am part of now.  I'm stronger than I've been in 20 years.  I don't gain weight, even during the holidays or vacations when I'm eating like a horse and not moving much.  And I have a confidence that's re-blossomed, borne of a renewed discovery of the depths within myself.  I've lived the notion that practice makes perfect.  Not because I'm a perfect runner, but because I see that with every run, I improve.  I improve my fitness, my running times, my distance, my determination, my confidence, my relationships.  It's a growth that sneaks it's little tendrils out and roots in aspects of my life I wouldn't have guessed.

So I may be an accidental runner, but I'm so glad I stumbled upon it.

Thanks for following along on my journey,

Kris