I don’t even pretend to be a runner. I do it to get through triathlons. I train, but for the first few miles my legs are lead. I consciously have to remind myself to keep my shoulders back, my gut zipped up, my arms at 90-degrees and swinging at my sides, per TryFitness training coaches. And sometimes I catch myself in this little bubble of zen, and POP, it’s gone.
The Honolulu Marathon is December 9, a month away. A year ago when my husband signed me up for it, I made a commitment to train, and to participate in the Marathon Readiness Series. Fortunately for me, the big 30k was cancelled because of the tsunami. But I wasn’t planning on doing it because I got that Synvisc-One injected into my right knee for my osteoarthritis. Well, I’m not real sure it’s doing its job yet, but I’m happy to give it a shot, haha. My doctor is very good at poking huge needles into my knee and carrying on a conversation about his colleague who won the Dick Evans on a broken bike and stuff like that. Effectively distracting.
Tonight I did a slow 2.95 miles at a Galloway pace of 6:1. I’m comfortable there. I think I’ll use that when I do the marathon. When I was through I asked myself if I thought I could do it eight more times. My friend Terry once told me to just think about running two miles 13 times, from aid station to aid station. My friends Rachel, Brigitte, and Katherine don’t have these thoughts. They are fast, and they appreciate that their speed means that they’ll be done sooner rather than later. They, too, enjoy elevating their legs and icing them down, and reaching for another cold one.
There are running groups all over: in real life, online, here and there. It is interesting to me because marketers know that they have to sell us a dream, a vision of what we want to be, and we are always hungry to believe. They know that the majority of the world’s runners are not swift and speedy gazelles. Most of us are sluggish, battling the bulge, beating down our body and bones, in search of something awesome at the end. For me, it’s just finishing. It’s that moment when you stop but your body keeps sweating, washing away the pain, and hopefully that tangle of anxiety that lingered after you punched out at work.
After I was through tonight, I decided I was back. My slump was over. The expanding muffin top has got to go. I’m not fantastic looking after 10 months of training, but I’m OK.