Beth and I had it all figured out. We were BFF in high school so it made sense that we would also be BFF in college. Rooming together in the dorms seemed like a perfectly natural idea. We were cut from the same cloth, Beth and I, sort of nerdy, pretty religious, always the do-gooders. We both got good grades and stayed out of trouble. Together, we would support each other through this our first year of college.
When the day finally arrived, Beth and I settled ourselves into our humble dorm room and prepared ourselves for the upcoming quarter. College was so much different than high school. We were allowed to stay out as late as we wanted, skip class, watch cable tv...there were even BOYS living on our same floor!
I don't say all this to make it sound like were were some goody-two-shoes, naive Christian girls who didn't know anything. We'd both had our fair share of boyfriends and the details surrounding those relationships would have made our mother's squirm. But still, there was a fair amount we had yet to experience....
One afternoon, two girls neither of us knew came knocking on our door. Jill and Abbey were from a Certain Campus Ministry and wanted to know if we might be interested in attending a women's bible study. Although we each had regular bible studies of our own, we both agreed this might be a great way to meet other Christians on campus and make friends who had other things on their minds than partying.
We met with 6 other women every Tuesday night and with a lecture hall full of people every Sunday to sing and listen to the message. We went on retreats and sang around camp fires. Had dinners at apartments with girls we were becoming fast friends with. Running was the absolute farthest thing from my mind and I managed to gain a few pounds.
Not to worry, I thought to myself. Here I've found people who love and accept me for who I am.
But there was a curiosity lurking somewhere beneath my psyche. I was still in close contact with most of my high school friends - friends who liked to party.
One night, I decided to join them.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Race for beer
Quick interruption from my Why I Run posts to bring you this 5K Race Day Report.
Normally, I like to participate in 5K's that are associated with some sort of benefit or charity event. It makes me feel less guilty about being party to street closures and inconveniences for motorists who are just trying to get home or to work or out for a Sunday drive.
Today, however, is St Patrick's Day and although the actual people living in Ireland don't celebrate this holiday with nearly the same stupidity as us Americans who find any excuse to wear stupid t-shirts and drink, I felt I could fore go the charity running for once and run for green beer.
I rolled from my slumber at the dark hour of 5.30am to deck myself out in my silly green green outfit and pick up my friends who were racing with me. Much to my dismay, it was snowing. Not snowing too hard, but it was there and I HATE snow. The wind was brutal and I was thankful I decided to add another layer at the last minute. We arrived at the bar (oh yes, it was sponsored by a bar, did I mention that? Way to mix lifestyles!) at about 6.45, picked up our t-shirts and started to warm up for the 8.00 start time. All around us, the St Patrick's Day festivities were already underway. The local Morning Zoo was there handing out prizes and taking requests. Already the green beer was flowing.
8.00 and we're off. It was an out and back course with maybe only about 250-300 runners. It snowed the entire time and snot froze to the side of my face. I decided not to worry about my time today and just have fun. I've been battling a nasty cough and it probably wasn't wise of me to even be out there today, but how could I not?? The cold air was brutal on my lungs, even with a scarf covering my nose and mouth. I reached the turn around point and slowed way down, almost to a walk. Just take it easy, I said to myself. This is a fun run; you're still sick, don't kill yourself out here today! I crossed the finish line at 31.56, a little over a minute slower than my last race.
I met up with my friends and we headed into the tent for green beers and silly t-shirts. Have I mentioned before how much I love boy runners? Especially the one's that wear Under Armor? I don't' know why that gets me so hot and bothered but the boys out there today were fantastically cute.
Anyway, chalk that one up to a fun run in the snow and cold. And I have another race bib and t-shirt to add to my collection.
Normally, I like to participate in 5K's that are associated with some sort of benefit or charity event. It makes me feel less guilty about being party to street closures and inconveniences for motorists who are just trying to get home or to work or out for a Sunday drive.
Today, however, is St Patrick's Day and although the actual people living in Ireland don't celebrate this holiday with nearly the same stupidity as us Americans who find any excuse to wear stupid t-shirts and drink, I felt I could fore go the charity running for once and run for green beer.
I rolled from my slumber at the dark hour of 5.30am to deck myself out in my silly green green outfit and pick up my friends who were racing with me. Much to my dismay, it was snowing. Not snowing too hard, but it was there and I HATE snow. The wind was brutal and I was thankful I decided to add another layer at the last minute. We arrived at the bar (oh yes, it was sponsored by a bar, did I mention that? Way to mix lifestyles!) at about 6.45, picked up our t-shirts and started to warm up for the 8.00 start time. All around us, the St Patrick's Day festivities were already underway. The local Morning Zoo was there handing out prizes and taking requests. Already the green beer was flowing.
8.00 and we're off. It was an out and back course with maybe only about 250-300 runners. It snowed the entire time and snot froze to the side of my face. I decided not to worry about my time today and just have fun. I've been battling a nasty cough and it probably wasn't wise of me to even be out there today, but how could I not?? The cold air was brutal on my lungs, even with a scarf covering my nose and mouth. I reached the turn around point and slowed way down, almost to a walk. Just take it easy, I said to myself. This is a fun run; you're still sick, don't kill yourself out here today! I crossed the finish line at 31.56, a little over a minute slower than my last race.
I met up with my friends and we headed into the tent for green beers and silly t-shirts. Have I mentioned before how much I love boy runners? Especially the one's that wear Under Armor? I don't' know why that gets me so hot and bothered but the boys out there today were fantastically cute.
Anyway, chalk that one up to a fun run in the snow and cold. And I have another race bib and t-shirt to add to my collection.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
This Circular Life
I could blame my increasing disinterest in running on a number of things: boyfriends, friends and generally just being a 17-year-old punk kid who thought she knew everything. Flipping though old journals reveals that my head was mostly in the clouds, starstruck and/or heartbroken over one boy or another. But nothing you wouldn't expect from a 17 year old girl's diary. I was never a trouble maker or anything - I got good grades and was heavily involved in the church. But by the time I was a senior, I was driving around town in my beat up Chavette feeling like the world was my oyster and running wasn't it. I got a bug up my but about quitting.
But, ah yes. That guitar.
I'd been eyeing it in the store window for weeks, falling asleep to fantasies about playing it in indie coffee shops in The Village, although at that time I wasn't too sure what 'The Village' was or where; I just knew I wanted to be there. My 17-year-old mind was ready to move on and I thought a guitar was my ticket out. Mom and I went around and around about it. She reminded me that she didn't raise a quitter and I had made a commitment to Coach, to the team and to myself.
"I want to quit," I said. As selfish as it was, I believed I actually could go through with it and not regret it.
Beat down and tired of trying to reason with me, she waved the offer of a guitar in front of me, almost without thinking. I latched on to the bribe like a lifeline and followed though on our agreement. I didn't run hard or even try. I didn't care. I did only enough to get by until I could say I was finished. After I ran my last race of the season, the last of my running career, my last race EVER, I kicked off my shoes and tuned up my guitar.
Like the circular motion of the stars, life often brings us back to our original starting points but with a wiser perspective so that we might learn where we've been, where we're going and how we'll get there. 10 years after I almost quit, I find myself training to run my first marathon with a noble purpose out of my own free will and that guitar is shoved under my bed somewhere amongst the dust bunnies.
But, ah yes. That guitar.
I'd been eyeing it in the store window for weeks, falling asleep to fantasies about playing it in indie coffee shops in The Village, although at that time I wasn't too sure what 'The Village' was or where; I just knew I wanted to be there. My 17-year-old mind was ready to move on and I thought a guitar was my ticket out. Mom and I went around and around about it. She reminded me that she didn't raise a quitter and I had made a commitment to Coach, to the team and to myself.
"I want to quit," I said. As selfish as it was, I believed I actually could go through with it and not regret it.
Beat down and tired of trying to reason with me, she waved the offer of a guitar in front of me, almost without thinking. I latched on to the bribe like a lifeline and followed though on our agreement. I didn't run hard or even try. I didn't care. I did only enough to get by until I could say I was finished. After I ran my last race of the season, the last of my running career, my last race EVER, I kicked off my shoes and tuned up my guitar.
Like the circular motion of the stars, life often brings us back to our original starting points but with a wiser perspective so that we might learn where we've been, where we're going and how we'll get there. 10 years after I almost quit, I find myself training to run my first marathon with a noble purpose out of my own free will and that guitar is shoved under my bed somewhere amongst the dust bunnies.
Monday, March 12, 2007
School days
That summer, we ran.
Miles upon countless miles we wove though trees and thickets, on bike trails and golf courses, through neighborhoods and over bridges. The summer sun beat down on our backs, bleaching our hair and burning our shoulders. I watched as my body slowly transformed from that of an awkward, geeky teenager to that of a strong and confident athlete. I nursed shinsplints with ice packs balancing on my legs and managed to ward off a possible stress fracture by way of experienced coaching.
"I want you to run, but I want you to run smart," Coach said.
I threw up almost everywhere. I pushed myself to the limit and when I thought I'd surely collapse, I ran another mile. I was the slowest person on the team, however my 5K times improved from a 39.36 to a 27.58 and I was content with that. I wasn't competitive; I knew I'd never win a race. In fact, I was pretty happy whenever I didn't come in last. But I felt a strong bond with the rest of my teammates and much joy in the camaraderie of our "fun runs", over night trips and even the excruciating hill repeats. I found a place where I fit in and felt comfortable, even if it meant I had to run in order to experience it.
Much to my surprise, I found that running provided the cardiovascular conditioning needed to improve my swimming technique. When I jumped in the pool for the first day of swim practice, I couldn't believe how much I'd improved and I thought I'd finally found a useful purpose for all the running I'd suffered through. Before that, I hadn't given much thought running again the following year, but after realizing the possible benefits that could be reaped in the pool, I committed to running by way of conditioning only.
Three years later, I was co-captain of the cross country team by default. There were only two seniors on the team and Coach's policy was that the team should be lead by seniority. My co-captain, N, and I felt undeserving. We'd both started running as sluggish, inexperienced freshman and had managed to improve our times over the years down to about a 24.25 for a 5K, but we were still the two slowest runners on the team, after all. Being appointed 'Captain' gave us a sense of importance that we otherwise wouldn't have received as back-of-the-pack runners. We organized carbo-loading dinners, handed out Gatorade and made sure there was always enough ice on hand after the really tough workouts. We talked about negative splits and lead the stretching routine. We teased Coach in good fun about his bad hearing, then he'd make us run a fartlek.
We had fun that year, but my heart just wasn't in it.
Miles upon countless miles we wove though trees and thickets, on bike trails and golf courses, through neighborhoods and over bridges. The summer sun beat down on our backs, bleaching our hair and burning our shoulders. I watched as my body slowly transformed from that of an awkward, geeky teenager to that of a strong and confident athlete. I nursed shinsplints with ice packs balancing on my legs and managed to ward off a possible stress fracture by way of experienced coaching.
"I want you to run, but I want you to run smart," Coach said.
I threw up almost everywhere. I pushed myself to the limit and when I thought I'd surely collapse, I ran another mile. I was the slowest person on the team, however my 5K times improved from a 39.36 to a 27.58 and I was content with that. I wasn't competitive; I knew I'd never win a race. In fact, I was pretty happy whenever I didn't come in last. But I felt a strong bond with the rest of my teammates and much joy in the camaraderie of our "fun runs", over night trips and even the excruciating hill repeats. I found a place where I fit in and felt comfortable, even if it meant I had to run in order to experience it.
Much to my surprise, I found that running provided the cardiovascular conditioning needed to improve my swimming technique. When I jumped in the pool for the first day of swim practice, I couldn't believe how much I'd improved and I thought I'd finally found a useful purpose for all the running I'd suffered through. Before that, I hadn't given much thought running again the following year, but after realizing the possible benefits that could be reaped in the pool, I committed to running by way of conditioning only.
Three years later, I was co-captain of the cross country team by default. There were only two seniors on the team and Coach's policy was that the team should be lead by seniority. My co-captain, N, and I felt undeserving. We'd both started running as sluggish, inexperienced freshman and had managed to improve our times over the years down to about a 24.25 for a 5K, but we were still the two slowest runners on the team, after all. Being appointed 'Captain' gave us a sense of importance that we otherwise wouldn't have received as back-of-the-pack runners. We organized carbo-loading dinners, handed out Gatorade and made sure there was always enough ice on hand after the really tough workouts. We talked about negative splits and lead the stretching routine. We teased Coach in good fun about his bad hearing, then he'd make us run a fartlek.
We had fun that year, but my heart just wasn't in it.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
How it began
"I'll buy you a guitar if you don't quit the cross country team."
Those aren't the exact words my mother used, but it summarizes the gist of our agreement, nonetheless. My mother was never one to use bribery as a parenting skill, but she could see I had her backed into a corner. I was determined to quit halfway through my senior year of high school cross country and nothing was going to change my mind. I'd had enough of this running crap. Wise beyond my years, she knew I'd regret quitting when I got older and promised me a guitar to finish out my last season.
I'd gotten suckered into joining the team as a naive freshman. The captain at the time, Paula, called me at home personally and coaxed me into giving it a try, if only for a week. They were in desperate need of runners to be recognized as an official team by the city and turned to the incoming freshman class for fresh bodies. I begrudgingly agreed, feeling a twinge of smugness at the fact that a senior, a senior, paid any attention to me. My dad, a long time runner himself, was thrilled when he heard the news. He immediately took me out to the specialty running store to be fitted for a sturdy pair of shoes and, before I knew what was happening, I was out for my first Saturday run with my dad.
I cried. I whined. I swore. He ran circles around me and by the time we reached the end of the block, I fell to the ground, spread eagle on the sidewalk swearing off running come hell or high water. I hobbled around the house for two days, dragging my pathetic body away from my dad when ever he entered the room.
"Never again!" I swore.
"Let's go out again! You'll love it!" he said.
"Never."
But, Monday rolled around and with it the first day of summer conditioning. Still fully intending never to run again, I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard the doorbell ring and saw Paula standing on my front porch. She was dressed to run, a huge smile on her face, and she was a senior, a senior!
"You ready?" Her smile wavered slightly as she saw what I was wearing. Flip flops, my bathing suit top and a pair of koolots (hey it was 1992, don't judge me by my fashion) was my usual summer attire and not particularly conducive to running.
"Oh, is it time already?" I backpedaled. Here was the captain of the cross country team, a senior, standing on my porch, wanting me to get in the car with her, her car (!), and go hang out with her, even though it meant running. How could I pass that up? I knew I would be the envy of all my friends, now that I was best friends with a senior! I would be so cool.
I threw on a pair of boxer shorts and a t-shirt, riffled through the trash bin for my new running shoes and jumped in the car.
I had no idea what I was about to get myself into.
Those aren't the exact words my mother used, but it summarizes the gist of our agreement, nonetheless. My mother was never one to use bribery as a parenting skill, but she could see I had her backed into a corner. I was determined to quit halfway through my senior year of high school cross country and nothing was going to change my mind. I'd had enough of this running crap. Wise beyond my years, she knew I'd regret quitting when I got older and promised me a guitar to finish out my last season.
I'd gotten suckered into joining the team as a naive freshman. The captain at the time, Paula, called me at home personally and coaxed me into giving it a try, if only for a week. They were in desperate need of runners to be recognized as an official team by the city and turned to the incoming freshman class for fresh bodies. I begrudgingly agreed, feeling a twinge of smugness at the fact that a senior, a senior, paid any attention to me. My dad, a long time runner himself, was thrilled when he heard the news. He immediately took me out to the specialty running store to be fitted for a sturdy pair of shoes and, before I knew what was happening, I was out for my first Saturday run with my dad.
I cried. I whined. I swore. He ran circles around me and by the time we reached the end of the block, I fell to the ground, spread eagle on the sidewalk swearing off running come hell or high water. I hobbled around the house for two days, dragging my pathetic body away from my dad when ever he entered the room.
"Never again!" I swore.
"Let's go out again! You'll love it!" he said.
"Never."
But, Monday rolled around and with it the first day of summer conditioning. Still fully intending never to run again, I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard the doorbell ring and saw Paula standing on my front porch. She was dressed to run, a huge smile on her face, and she was a senior, a senior!
"You ready?" Her smile wavered slightly as she saw what I was wearing. Flip flops, my bathing suit top and a pair of koolots (hey it was 1992, don't judge me by my fashion) was my usual summer attire and not particularly conducive to running.
"Oh, is it time already?" I backpedaled. Here was the captain of the cross country team, a senior, standing on my porch, wanting me to get in the car with her, her car (!), and go hang out with her, even though it meant running. How could I pass that up? I knew I would be the envy of all my friends, now that I was best friends with a senior! I would be so cool.
I threw on a pair of boxer shorts and a t-shirt, riffled through the trash bin for my new running shoes and jumped in the car.
I had no idea what I was about to get myself into.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Why I run
I've had plenty of time over the last few weeks to mope about the house and complain about the aches and pains going on all over my body. To say I feel old and decrepit is an understatement, but pretty accurate, nonetheless.
I've been difficult to deal with, moody and tired.
Sometime last week, I don't know when, I decided I'd had enough. Puttering around the house and eating the entire contents of my refrigerator is not normally how I deal with things. It was time to take charge and resume my life that had been put on hold for only God knows what. On Saturday, I jumped into my Under Armor determined to run a mile. No. Matter. What. A mile is a mile is a mile. I've done it thousands of times. Surely I wasn't going to let a little "back pain" get in my way.
The air was chilling, snow blowing sideways into my face. I didn't care; it felt glorious. I made it to the mile turn-around-point and decided to run back, even though earlier I had promised myself I only had to run a mile. I felt too good to stop. I turned my face up to the sky and let the snow hit my face.
This is why I run, I remembered.
In the next few posts, I would like to share with you, anyone who cares enough to read, the reason I've decided to run a marathon. Maybe it will inspire another victim to reclaim their body, their hearts, their spirits and join us out there on the road. If running is a metaphor for life, then running a marathon is my metaphor for overcoming.
I've been difficult to deal with, moody and tired.
Sometime last week, I don't know when, I decided I'd had enough. Puttering around the house and eating the entire contents of my refrigerator is not normally how I deal with things. It was time to take charge and resume my life that had been put on hold for only God knows what. On Saturday, I jumped into my Under Armor determined to run a mile. No. Matter. What. A mile is a mile is a mile. I've done it thousands of times. Surely I wasn't going to let a little "back pain" get in my way.
The air was chilling, snow blowing sideways into my face. I didn't care; it felt glorious. I made it to the mile turn-around-point and decided to run back, even though earlier I had promised myself I only had to run a mile. I felt too good to stop. I turned my face up to the sky and let the snow hit my face.
This is why I run, I remembered.
In the next few posts, I would like to share with you, anyone who cares enough to read, the reason I've decided to run a marathon. Maybe it will inspire another victim to reclaim their body, their hearts, their spirits and join us out there on the road. If running is a metaphor for life, then running a marathon is my metaphor for overcoming.
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