I'm a Runner
There, I Said It Out Loud and You Know What? I’m Going to Keep Saying It
Relative to a lot of runners, I started very late in life, when I was fifty years old. And also relative to many runners, I am not fast. I feel fast; I feel exhausted and worn out when I finish a run. But in truth, “fast” is a relative term and I’m just not that.
And that’s okay. In fact, it’s more than okay; it rocks. I rock. And not just because I’m a runner, but it’s a pretty big part of it. When someone asks me what I do now that I’m retired, I reply, “I’m a writer and a runner.” I have never been a fan of labels because I think they put people in a box and I’m not a fan of limiting someone’s potential. But these two labels, writer and runner, seem to me to have nothing but potential; and so, I wear them proudly.
I’ve been a workout fiend since the eighties, waking up at five in the morning so I could get to the gym and do an aerobics class and lift free weights before work and even on Sundays. But I always said I didn’t understand the obsession some people had with running. Two of our three kids competed in cross country/track through high school and into college, and we never missed a meet, even when we had to drive from New York to Maryland for races; but I still never understood it or had any desire to try it.
Then a friend called out of the blue and asked me to run a Turkey Trot with her. My response: “Have you met me? I have never even run to the mailbox, and it’s nailed to the front of the house.”
I guess I was still a sucker for peer pressure, even at fifty, because for some unknown and unknowable reason, I consented to do it. I mean, I was the proud owner of a pair of cheap sneakers, and I did love hiking and walking; so, what the hell, why not? And I went.
And I got bit by the running bug hard that day. I can’t even explain it to you, or to myself. It still makes me shake my head, but I’ve learned to stop questioning fate and embrace it. I’m now one of those annoying runners who sounds like she found G-d when I talk about my daily long runs or my shorter speed runs; and I’m not apologizing for it, either.
Long Runs
I am so fortunate to live in the area thirty miles north of my hometown New York City known as “horse country” to locals and “upstate” to those still living la vida loca in the Big Apple. Outside my house is a dirt road that goes on for several miles and on any given day, you’ll see me out there pounding down it. You’d probably feel sorry for me and stop to ask if I’m okay. It’s happened more than once.
That’s because I don’t run pretty. And as I said before, I don’t run fast. But let me tell you about my long runs because when I finish one, and after my heart rate drops from 135 bpm and I can breathe again, I’m pretty damned proud of myself.
It’s a lot to run between five and eight miles, I’m aware. But it’s a lot more when you factor in the hills. The inclines on my long runs are either steep or long or both. Some of my runs appear to be uphill in both directions and while I know that makes no sense, that’s the way it feels. I learned long ago from hiking places like the Grand Canyon that it’s better to look a few feet ahead of yourself when doing a challenging incline instead of looking up towards the top. Looking up psyches me out, scares me, makes me doubt myself. Looking down and just ahead does several things.
First and most importantly on these back roads, it lets me make sure I avoid ruts, rocks, branches, potholes, darting chipmunks, and any other ankle busters just waiting to trip me up. At my age, that could be permanent damage and no thanks. Second, it lets me rely on information only from my legs and lungs. I often say my runs are a battle between my legs and lungs, and inclines definitely test that theory. The game is, which one is going to give up first? I usually try to do the hills as if I’m running upstairs: on the balls of my feet and as fast as I can to get it over with.
Downhills are a completely different issue. As a new runner, I always saw them as a way to increase my overall run pace. I mean, physically that makes perfect sense, right? Unless you’re a knee. Physiologically, your body tries to keep you from Jack-and-Jilling down a steep hill by putting all the pressure on your knees. I have learned so much about the human body in the twelve years I’ve been running, and one of those facts is that your knees don’t like hills. So, I now do one of those fast walks on the downhills, the one that makes you look like a crazy person with legs scissoring and hips and arms swinging wildly.
Speed Runs
These are just under two miles; and I try to sprint the whole thing, “sprint” being a relative term like “fast.” These also involve the same ridiculous hills, only a lot fewer of them so the torture is less. That’s all I have to say about that.
Learning as I Go
As I get to be a better (read “more experienced” and “deluded”) runner, I learn from the masters of the universe how to improve. I read a lot and belong to running clubs online. One thing many of them say is “Do intervals.”
For the uninitiated, this means that in the middle of my plodding I should do thirty to sixty seconds of faster running and then slow back down to normal. Repeatedly. So, I do that on the flat sections between the inclines and downhills. I’ve tried one of those interval thingies that you attach to yourself that tells you when to begin and end them; but those don’t jive with the ups and downs, so I just count. I literally count to thirty or sixty as I go. Trying to breathe, run and count at the same time is a bit challenging but I’m a natural multi-tasker so it works for me.
Support
Imperative. Critical. Vital. Crucial. Essential. WordHippo gave me even more synonyms, but I think this gets the message across.
I’ll start by saying I much prefer to run alone. I do run faster when I have someone with me, but my regular daily runs are when I do my thinking. I compose and solve plot problems for my novels in my head, have conversations with people that could never happen in real life, plan trips and ponder the past and future. It’s my therapy and I guard it carefully.
Still, it’s important to feel not alone in this running journey so I joined Facebook groups. But even the groups for over-60’s are full of people who do Ultra Marathons every week and are upset with a nine-minute mile pace. In other words, not my tribe.
So, I created my own tribe. I started a Facebook group called “Running Like a Turtle” for anyone at any age and stage of running for whom a ten-minute mile is not even on the radar. We are the world’s best cheerleaders, and I check in everyday for my dose of happy turtle runner love.
Races
I LOVE races. I don’t win races or even qualify for a ribbon unless everyone gets a ribbon; but I still love them.
Even if you’re not a runner, you should go to a local marathon. You’ll see what I mean. Whether I’m in the race or there to cheer someone on, it’s just festive, fun, and wonderful. The racers design tee shirts so the spectators will yell encouragement at them as they go by. It makes it that much more personal.
I’ve been to Boston to cheer on my daughter and hubby, and to the New York race to cheer on one of my husband’s employees or my cousin, both of whom are Guides. Guides volunteer to run 26.2 miles to help a blind, deaf, or brain-impaired person complete a marathon. I mean, what kind of super-human would run that distance without a bib or race results in their name?! And there are a lot of these Guides who run every marathon, as well as groups that run for causes like St. Jude or the Jimmy Fund. It’s really heartwarming, you should go.
As for me, I generally stick to 5K and 10K races. Most of them are hilly like my daily run but I put a half marathon on my life goal plan and looked for a flat one. It was not to be. I ran one of the hilliest local races there is for my one and only half marathon and I beasted it. At least in my own mind. In a sweet turnabout, my daughter and her husband came from Maine to cheer me on and even they were impressed with this old lady.
When I saw the 13-mile marker, I knew I had DONE IT!! And then I turned the corner to get to the finish line and there it was, at the top of one of the steepest inclines I had ever seen. So unfair and so discouraging, but I stuck to one of my training routines that I use every time I leave the house: I sprint to the finish with my arms thrown up in celebration, and I did it that day too. Daughter asked if she should go get the car, but beast that I am, I waved her off with a laugh. And it wasn’t a lie, I felt GREAT. Partly because I knew I never had to do it again.
Out I Go
As sometimes happens to me as a writer, I get an idea and want to get it down before this old brain sucks it into a nether region never to be seen again. But the road beckons, it’s a cool Autumn morning and it’s time to lace up and hit the road.
If you see me out there, give a wave. You can also yell, “Go Mo Go!” which is what I put on my race tee shirt. I could use all the encouragement I can get.