Apparently three years of stagnation takes a toll on a body. Apparently muscle definition, core strength, and endurance are not guaranteed when you don’t actually break a sweat for 36 whole months.
I learned that lesson the very hard, very unpleasant way this morning. When I went out for a “run.”
Here’s the thing: I’m sort of in training. Because I am crazy, I agreed to join 11 of my mostly young, very fit co-workers on a running team that is going to cover the distance from Colorado Springs to Crested Butte in a 24-hour race this July. I will run three separate legs, and will likely need 3 new sets of legs, over the 24-hour period. And I’m guessing there will be hills on this course, it being Colorado and Crested Butte being a ski town and all. So, since I’m doing this race in 3 months or so and I kind of figured it was time to actually start running again in preparation for it. I also kind of figured I’d be able to just jump right back into this whole running thing. Boy, was I wrong.
I used to run a little bit. Don’t misunderstand–I’m not fast. (I am in total awe of my 16 year old niece who runs a sub 7 minute mile. If I can run a mile in 9 min/30 sec or less, I’m in stellar form.) I’ve never been fast–always bringing up the rear when the basketball or tennis team ran “the mile” on Fridays in high school. But I used to be able to run for a long time. I’ve completed two marathons, a couple half marathons, and more than a handful of 10ks.
But, somewhere along the running trail, life got in the way. Crazy long hours at the office. Three boys born within three years of each other. Parent Teacher Organizations. Commitments. Sleepless nights. Harried days. Lots of running around–without the actual running part.
So, this morning, I dug into the bottom dresser drawer and found some running shorts tucked away under a few t-shirts. I put them on (the shorts and the t-shirt) and laced up my neglected running shoes. I felt encouraged; I looked like the real deal. Just like the beginning snowboarder with the top of the line board, boots and Burton jacket. A poseur am I.
I started slow–at a walk. Then, at the 4 minute mark, I began to jog. Sixty seconds into it, I was gasping for air. I’m not exaggerating. You think I am, but I absolutely am not. I ran for two minutes and then walked. I had to catch my breath. And so I went for 39 minutes, walking/jogging/walking/jogging. Gasping, gagging, coughing, clutching my chest…The most I ran at any given time was 5 minutes in a row. And that hurt.
So while I was out there feeling tortured and beaten, I began thinking about friends I know who say they “can’t run.” I now know what they mean. But here is the thing: I also know it gets better. Anyone can run who wants to. I’ve been on the other side and I know it gets easier. But, just like anything, you gotta start somewhere. Someday not too far from now I will be able to run more than 5 minutes in a row. I will actually be able to run a few miles in a row. Let’s hope so, anyway, or my relay team members will likely kick me to the curb and I’ll be walking home from Salida Springs.
And someday soon I hope I’m able to pull out my mantra that I used to chant to myself when trying to power through an 18 mile training run for the marathon:
I am fit. I am strong. I can run for very long.
Might be cheezy, but it worked. And I look forward to saying it and believing it again.
But does this mean I have to run again tomorrow?
