The Truth About Running....

I don’t always like running, and by “don’t always like,” I mean I sometimes sort of hate running. Period. It hurts and it makes my lungs and my legs burn.  I feel like I just can’t take one more step.

However, one of the good things about running is that you have to make it back to your home/car or wherever you started.  So... Instead of giving up I just keep on running because, true story, walking those two miles back would take too long and would make me very miserable... Plus I don't need to think that long by myself... That would be dangerous! 

Anyway, as soon as I’m done running, I always feel like a million bucks — no, I feel like fifty million bucks — and I’m happy that I actually did it even tho I spent hours before the run talking myself out of going.  “It wasn’t really that bad,” I can say so easily as I’m unlacing my running shoes and coiling wadding my earphones for the next run.

I started running with the understanding that runners LOVE running. (& the mere fact that baby weight is a pain and doesn't exactly lose itself despite what hollywood would have you believe.)  They talk about that endorphin high.  They run and it looks nearly effortless.  I think that maybe I’ve had a teeny, tiny taste of an endorphin high, but I know I won’t be the next poster child for how effortless running can look.  It has occurred to me on, oh, just about every occasion I’ve run, that maybe I’m not really meant to be a runner.  Maybe pilates or even bingo would be more my speed.

I keep on running, though.

I want to train to run a 10K, or 6.2 miles.  I just think I would be so proud of myself if I actually ran 6.2 miles in a race and didn't die!  It would probably even be kind of fun.  I have signed up for 5k's.  “HA!  A measly 3.1 miles!  Smugness and chuckles abound!   I could probably sprint the whole way!” I have thought to myself.

One of these days I’ll learn that smugness and chuckling never suit me well.  I felt awful during the last race.  My stride was all off, my side was cramping starting about about the half mile point.  I had to walk about four different times. But the worst part was the embarrassment I felt when the 60 year old power walker passed me and then was cheering me on at the finish line. Ouch. I wanted to be the one cheering her on.

Running longer distances takes time and it’s time that is inconvenient for the rest of my family.  I feel guilty when I leave to run in the evenings when it’s “cooled off” (yes, the quotes are necessary) and leave Johnny to handle supper time alone.  I feel guilty when I wake up early on a Saturday morning to run and leave Johnny to handle our ravenous daughter demanding pancakes when I know he has a list a mile long of things to around the house. But often times it results in my pushing of about 60 lbs. as I run!

There are parallel lessons between life and running, I just know there are.  Some days are great while other days are nothing but crap of a cracker.  Even though I sometimes sort of hate it while I’m doing it and I feel guilty for doing something for myself, I keep doing it.  When I haven’t run in a few days, I find myself craving it, the feel of my feet against the pavement, my face red with effort, with beads of sweat dripping down my back.  Just the simple illusion of being a non baby fat, non infant-hippo-looking mom! At the same time I’m craving it, the “you don’t really need to go today, do you?” talk starts in my head.

So I grab my running shoes and go before I can talk myself out of it.