Secret confession time: I've missed two training runs since I started this journey to 13.1 miles. One was the day we drove to Kalamazoo to ride a boat and try jetskiing for the first time. The other was last Wednesday and my excuse is nowhere near as fun. I had to get to work early, which meant that I was going to need to get up even earlier than I usually do in order to have time to run, shower, and get ready for work. I had stayed up later than usual the night before and when my alarm went off...I just couldn't do it. I was tired, it was ruthlessly hot out, and I could not fathom running that morning. I halfheartedly told myself that I'd run after work that day. Ha. It was even hotter, and I was even more tired, and by the end of the day I didn't even entertain the thought.
No big deal, missing a run here or there, right? Well, kind of. It's not something I want to get into the habit of, especially since the only one who will suffer will be me, when I have to drag myself to the finish line with my fingernails because I've not prepared enough to trot merrily across it. I'm also undertaking this little run to prove to myself that I can set my mind on something, train, and actually follow through. Delayed gratification is supposed to be a very good thing to make yourself able to do. Or so I hear.
This morning I realllly didn't want to run. I mean, I never wake up and bound out of bed at the thought of running 4+ miles first thing in the morning on an empty stomach, but today I really didn't want to. We ate out at a Mexican restaurant last night and finished an entire pitcher of margaritas between the two of us. All that food and alcohol was still sitting heavy in my stomach when I headed out the door. At least it was relatively cool.
My run sucked, there's no way around that, but I have learned to try not to think about it very much. I just accept that I'm going to be running for the next 45-60 minutes and try to think about other things. After the first few jangly steps I usually find my stride and am able to space out and let my legs take over. When I finish a run by 8am I am happy knowing that I don't have to worry about it for the rest of the day. I know that I'll probably get up and do it all over again tomorrow and I don't think much about it either. I try not to entertain the thought that I have an option not to. After all, I'd only be cheating myself.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
Wait, Why Are You Doing This?
So as I've geared up and starting training for this half-marathon thing, people keep asking me "why?" One person even joked that she wouldn't do a half-marathon unless she had a long distance runner-cum-burglar chasing her. On some days (like Thursday when I realllly didn't want to run in the heat after a long day at work) I'm inclined to agree wholeheartedly.
Well, the easy answer is that I'm crazy, and an overachiever, and I like to run, so I combined all of these things and signed up for a half-marathon. The less-easy answer is that I've always wanted to finish one and I figured a good way to make myself actually follow through was to pony up the $75 and register.
The really complicated answer requires a bit more introspection. First of all, last year was a wild ride. I quit my job, moved across the country, and earned my Master's degree in a year. Phew. But, it was amazing and exhilarating and crazy and I'm so, so glad I did it. It got me out of the 9-5 I-Hate-My-Job rut and it really helped me grow as a person. I tried so many new things in that year I can't even count them all.
And then once my MA program was over and I settled into my next full-time job, I felt that stagnation creeping back in. I got up, went to work, went home, ate dinner, and then went to sleep, just to wake up the next day and do it all over again. I began to feel like I was living a very small life, one of quiet desperation, if you will. I didn't find fulfillment in anything that I did (at least not at work). I wasn't learning new things, or growing and acquiring new skills. I was just collecting a paycheck, and a few extra pounds each month as I ate my way through boredom and unhappiness.
I had several freakouts of the Oh My God What Am I Doing With My Life variety. I think everyone in their 20's can relate to that. There's just so much uncertainty, I really hate uncertainty. People in job interviews would ask me "Where do you see yourself in 10 years?" I couldn't answer this question; I didn't even know where I saw myself in 10 months. Once I decided I wasn't going to get a PhD and become a professor, I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do. I had so much drive and passion and nothing to work towards.
I still haven't decided what my life plan is but I have decided to not define success by what I do for a living, at least not right now. I don't know what kind of career I want to pursue, other than I know I want to do something I find intellectually challenging and fulfilling. I want to work with intelligent people on something I feel passionately about. While I try to figure out the who/what/when/where of that, I'll work on accomplishing some of my other goals. Put that energy towards something. This is where the half-marathon comes in.
I've always wanted to do one, ever since sophomore year of college when some friends and I talked about running the Austin Half together and I chickened out at the last minute, fearing it would be "too hard." I was 20, NOTHING was too hard. I had the body of a teenager and endless free time. Alas, it is now 6 years later and I've been busy ruining my knees with at least a decade of running on hard surfaces with worn-out shoes. But I signed up, paid that $75, and I'm going to run this thing if it kills me. Then when people ask where I see myself in 10 years, I can answer that uncertainty no longer bothers me because I know I'll go confidently in the direction of my dreams, even if those dreams are sometimes nightmares of being chased by a long distance runner-cum-burglar for 13.1 miles. At least I'll know I can do it.
Well, the easy answer is that I'm crazy, and an overachiever, and I like to run, so I combined all of these things and signed up for a half-marathon. The less-easy answer is that I've always wanted to finish one and I figured a good way to make myself actually follow through was to pony up the $75 and register.
The really complicated answer requires a bit more introspection. First of all, last year was a wild ride. I quit my job, moved across the country, and earned my Master's degree in a year. Phew. But, it was amazing and exhilarating and crazy and I'm so, so glad I did it. It got me out of the 9-5 I-Hate-My-Job rut and it really helped me grow as a person. I tried so many new things in that year I can't even count them all.
And then once my MA program was over and I settled into my next full-time job, I felt that stagnation creeping back in. I got up, went to work, went home, ate dinner, and then went to sleep, just to wake up the next day and do it all over again. I began to feel like I was living a very small life, one of quiet desperation, if you will. I didn't find fulfillment in anything that I did (at least not at work). I wasn't learning new things, or growing and acquiring new skills. I was just collecting a paycheck, and a few extra pounds each month as I ate my way through boredom and unhappiness.
I had several freakouts of the Oh My God What Am I Doing With My Life variety. I think everyone in their 20's can relate to that. There's just so much uncertainty, I really hate uncertainty. People in job interviews would ask me "Where do you see yourself in 10 years?" I couldn't answer this question; I didn't even know where I saw myself in 10 months. Once I decided I wasn't going to get a PhD and become a professor, I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do. I had so much drive and passion and nothing to work towards.
I still haven't decided what my life plan is but I have decided to not define success by what I do for a living, at least not right now. I don't know what kind of career I want to pursue, other than I know I want to do something I find intellectually challenging and fulfilling. I want to work with intelligent people on something I feel passionately about. While I try to figure out the who/what/when/where of that, I'll work on accomplishing some of my other goals. Put that energy towards something. This is where the half-marathon comes in.
I've always wanted to do one, ever since sophomore year of college when some friends and I talked about running the Austin Half together and I chickened out at the last minute, fearing it would be "too hard." I was 20, NOTHING was too hard. I had the body of a teenager and endless free time. Alas, it is now 6 years later and I've been busy ruining my knees with at least a decade of running on hard surfaces with worn-out shoes. But I signed up, paid that $75, and I'm going to run this thing if it kills me. Then when people ask where I see myself in 10 years, I can answer that uncertainty no longer bothers me because I know I'll go confidently in the direction of my dreams, even if those dreams are sometimes nightmares of being chased by a long distance runner-cum-burglar for 13.1 miles. At least I'll know I can do it.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Here We Come Again
On Tuesday I woke up absolutely exhausted (probably from lying awake in a pool of my own sweat half the night as it has been SO HOT in Chicago for the past week) and in no mood to run the 3.5 miles my training schedule perfunctorily suggested. I headed into the day knowing that I'd have to run at night, and that it would be so much worse. I'd be more tired after a long day at work, it would be hotter at the end of the day than in the morning, etc.
After we both got home from work, D asked if I'd like to lift weights with him. I informed him, with much sighing and overdramatization, that I had to run but could do it in the workout room on the treadmill. We headed downstairs and buzzed ourselves in, only to discover that Eastern European B.O. guy was already down there "lifting weights." As I have been working out in this weight room for almost a year, I'm pretty familiar with the regulars. Eastern European B.O. guy is not a regular, he's a new addition. He's, you guessed it, an extremely stout and sturdily built Eastern European man with absolutely overwhelming body odor. He likes to sit on the weight machines and sweat (there's no air conditioner in the weight room and it's a rather confined space) and occasionally half-heartedly paw at some of the machinery. I get that he's trying, and more power to him, but for the love of God someone should introduce him to deodorant.
So once D realized that Eastern European B.O. guy was monopolizing the weights with his bulk and body odor, he suggested we run outside together. I love running with D because he always breaks up the monotony and makes me laugh, whether it's by doing a goofy dance or galloping alongside me at an awkward angle so that he can share my silly running pop music. It was surprisingly cool and windy out, and the temperature was downright bearable. We were trotting along next to each other, in tandem but not talking, when it started to sprinkle. He looked at me with a raised eyebrow and I smiled, raised my fist, and said "Onward!" Then it started to sprinkle harder and soon it was flat-out raining. D handed me his shirt to wrap my iPod in and we continued towards the dock. There was almost no one else out on the path and the rain actually made things quite lovely. There we were, running along, looking out over the water at the wavy blue skyline in the distance and letting the rain pour over us and wash our sweat away.
"I could get used to this," I thought. This running thing, this city, this man. This is something I could get used to.
After we both got home from work, D asked if I'd like to lift weights with him. I informed him, with much sighing and overdramatization, that I had to run but could do it in the workout room on the treadmill. We headed downstairs and buzzed ourselves in, only to discover that Eastern European B.O. guy was already down there "lifting weights." As I have been working out in this weight room for almost a year, I'm pretty familiar with the regulars. Eastern European B.O. guy is not a regular, he's a new addition. He's, you guessed it, an extremely stout and sturdily built Eastern European man with absolutely overwhelming body odor. He likes to sit on the weight machines and sweat (there's no air conditioner in the weight room and it's a rather confined space) and occasionally half-heartedly paw at some of the machinery. I get that he's trying, and more power to him, but for the love of God someone should introduce him to deodorant.
So once D realized that Eastern European B.O. guy was monopolizing the weights with his bulk and body odor, he suggested we run outside together. I love running with D because he always breaks up the monotony and makes me laugh, whether it's by doing a goofy dance or galloping alongside me at an awkward angle so that he can share my silly running pop music. It was surprisingly cool and windy out, and the temperature was downright bearable. We were trotting along next to each other, in tandem but not talking, when it started to sprinkle. He looked at me with a raised eyebrow and I smiled, raised my fist, and said "Onward!" Then it started to sprinkle harder and soon it was flat-out raining. D handed me his shirt to wrap my iPod in and we continued towards the dock. There was almost no one else out on the path and the rain actually made things quite lovely. There we were, running along, looking out over the water at the wavy blue skyline in the distance and letting the rain pour over us and wash our sweat away.
"I could get used to this," I thought. This running thing, this city, this man. This is something I could get used to.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
The First Step
I officially started my training program last Monday. On the schedule for that day: stretch and strengthen. No problem, I thought. Tuesday was a bit of a wakeup call when I actually had to run for the first time in almost a week. I felt stiff and tired and out of whack. My Wednesday cross training (which I did on the elliptical machine at the gym) was much easier. Thursday I headed out to the trail in the morning, which was simultaneously better and worse. Better because it was cooler, much cooler, and because I was completely done with my workout by 8am. Worse because I had to run 3 miles before 8am. That said, I think I'm becoming a morning runner. It's so hot and sunny by 6pm that I have a hard time getting out on the road and convincing myself that running is fun. In the morning I roll out of bed, take a couple big swigs of water, and head to the lakefront path before I'm even fully awake. It's much, much cooler, and kind of a nice way to start the day, watching the morning sunshine bounce off the lake. As I said, I'm done by 8am and then I don't have to spend the rest of the day alternating between dreading my evening run and trying to talk myself out of it. I go home, shower, and eat breakfast at work. My evenings are open to do whatever I want. That said, this zeal for morning runs will probably wane as the summer progresses, especially when they double in length and I have to get up even earlier to fit in 6 miles before going to work all day. This is going to be a long road. Literally.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)