We Got Her! The Intern, Up and Running
Run like a… Father? Jessie and her dad going for a neighborhood run
After working for another mother runner for almost a year, I still hadn’t gotten on the running train. Working for a running blog and being a total workout-a-phobe was a constant source of irony in my life. While I knew a lot about running, countless creative ways to find time and motivation to work out, and all of its benefits—both mind and body–I still never kept up a regular routine. My sparse workouts were punctuated by discouraging soreness and the embarrassment of how weak my body was. Truth is, I’ve just never been much of an athlete. Though I played water polo and swam in high school, I’ve got a bad knee, sports-induced asthma, and serious coordination issues working against me.
This summer, I took on three jobs and one class. Working in a cubicle, then sitting in a classroom, then manning a desk at my college campus started to take its toll quickly. At the end of the day, I was mentally drained yet still restless; I realized something needed to change.
I needed to move.
So one day, for what seemed like the millionth time of deciding “Now, I am going to run and this time
Letting the Oregonian complexion show, wearing sunscreen for a trail run in San Jose, CA
I’ll keep with it,” I pulled out my ill-fitting Nike shocks that were gathering dust in the back corner of my closet and, with a heavy sigh and my iPod, left the house to release some tension. The outing wasn’t pretty, and it definitely wasn’t successful—but I came home feeling an endorphin rush and a strong conviction that I needed to keep with it this time.
I started out running in my neighborhood, where I knew that there was only a small chance someone would see my huffing, slowing down, or taking walk breaks. I made two rules for myself: go every other day and go a little further each time. Whether it was a block, or two, or five more, I made sure I was increasing my distance gradually each time—even if that meant I had to walk a little bit on days I wasn’t feeling too well. Within a week I could feel the difference in my legs, my energy levels, and my attitude.
About a month or so into my running routine, there was a moment where I really felt like a runner, and even more, like I actually experienced what the AMR tribe describes all the time: It became a release, not a chore.
I had a friend staying in my room while I was on a family vacation in July. The vacation, as they often do, turned out to be anything but emotionally or physically restful. I returned home and found my friend had his belongings splayed across my room. It was the last straw in a long series of disappointments, and I was furious. I knew it was unreasonable for me to be upset like I was—it was nothing out of the ordinary for a college kid, but I couldn’t shake off my emotional rage.
In my favorite running digs: the Lucy Propel Running Skirt
Eyes widened, eyebrows raised, deep breath in. I was exhausted, upset, and I needed to be alone. But the house was full of roommates and friends, there were dirty dishes in the sink, and I’m pretty sure my friend had just clipped his toenails on my bed.
So I plunked down my suitcase at the doorframe, and simply said, “I need to go for a run.” And then I just went. Before running, my options in this sort of situation were to bottle it up or let it all out; I had no way to release negative emotions in a productive way. But on the run, I blasted my Lady GaGa and sorted through what I was feeling. That run cleared my mind like never before. I got home, stretched on the porch, and walked in the house feeling like a badass mother runner, and I couldn’t have been more proud. I felt—and feel—so good, and I have Sarah, Dimity, and you all to thank for that.
So I’m pretty sure I can call myself a runner now, and I’m ready to take on more miles. Stay tuned.
Three Strikes–Then I’m Finally In
Total non sequiter, but I miss the Family Fued. Loved those show-downs.
Brief post tonight because I’m wiped. I had two of my best friends, Kathy and Dan, in town this weekend from NYC. They were both my roommates at separate times, and I have running histories with both of them (Dan and I used to run in Riverside Park, until he became too fast: He just blitzed a 1:30 half-marathon on very little training; while Kathy and I ran the 1997 NYC Marathon together.)
Wait: I said this was going to be brief.
So Dan and Kathy both still live in Manhattan, and have a much more nocturnal lifestyle–not to mention much higher tolerance–than I do. We had two memorable dinners with plenty of great stories (both of the rehashed and catch-up kind) and drinks. But two post-midnight bedtimes for this sedate, schedule-loving ‘rado girl was too much.
Needless to say, I got thrown off my schedule.
1. Strike one: I was supposed to do short, easy runs on Saturday and Sunday morning. Neither happened. Food was too rich, nights were too late. I could’ve run with Dan, but he’s a bit of a masochist and went out at 5 p.m. on Saturday, when it was about 95 degrees. I can’t hang with him in perfect running temps, let alone scorching ones.
2. Strike two: After taking Kathy to the airport on Sunday afternoon, I thought I might squeak in one workout at the gym. I got to the parking lot, and decided I just needed to close my eyes for few minutes, then I’d have the energy to go in. So I kept the A/C blasting (sorry, environment!) and tipped my seat back and closed my eyes. I dozed for 20 minutes, got myself together, stepped outside the car, and stepped right back in. All I wanted was more sleep, so I headed home and, despite knowing that a nap at 5:00 isn’t the best idea, climbed under the sheets.
3. Strike three: I thought, after an almost full night’s sleep (the late nap did come back and bite me), I would be raring to go this morning. Not so much. Despite laying out my clothes and promising myself I’d get up, I didn’t. Instead, I listened to NPR and fell in and out of sleep from about 5:30-7:00.
I was in one of those cranky, only-sweat-will-snap-this moods this morning as I microwaved pancakes, and I was mentally running through my options. The best one? Run right after I drop the kids off at camp at 9 a.m.
I did. It wasn’t pretty. I struggled. I was still sweating out wheat beers, I’m pretty sure, and goat cheese souffle and carrot gnocchi and cinnamon gelato and curried chicken, among other things, were weighing down my legs.
But 50 minutes later, my tank top was soaked and my head was no longer throbbing. Most importantly, I was grateful, in the way that only running can make me, for lifelong friends who travel across the country for the weekend. And for reminding me that laughing, connecting, and feeling loved are much more important, in the long run, than getting in my daily run.