I’ve been thinking a lot about my half marathon in September. It feels unreal to me, yet the anxiety is building. Along with my weekly trainer sessions I’ve been trying to get my endurance up on the treadmill. I’m not really worried with how fast I’m going just yet, I’m more concerned about being able to keep a good pace. As of right now a good pace for me is somewhere between 5.0-5.5 mph, that’s about an 11 1/2 minute mile. That’s about where I’m comfortable for the time being. I can pretty much of for a long while at that pace, and that is my goal. I’ve been doing some sprints (6.0 or higher) too, just to see what it feels like. Also, all the
assholes athletic-types at the gym run easily at a rate I call “sprinting”, and well, I really want to be like them. Eventually. I want to be a gazelle taking long fluid strides and just take off. As of now I can do that for about 90 seconds, then I do the whole sucking-wind-like-an-astmatic-6th-grader. By the way, I went to school with some kid who constantly had asthma attacks after recess and constantly barfed in class, usually right behind of next to me. I swear to you, I did not eat spaghetti from the time I was 11 to sometime in my early 20’s. But, I digress… Oh yea. Running. So I’d like to be a gazelle and stuff. It’s happening, kind of. I still hate the first 15 minutes of any run I start. I kept telling myself that will change, but everything I have read so far, blogs and articles and all says differently. Le sigh.
Tomorrow I’m going to try my first attempt at an early morning jog. I’ve set my alarm for 5:30 am and I’ve laid out my clothes and all. Oh, boy… Should be fun, right? I need to start doing this to see what long periods of concrete feel like under my feet, and to see what my body feels like that early in the morning. I need to get used to it. That half marathon is at 5:45 am. Seriously. I must be insane. Um, why am I doing this again?
Here’s some hardcore truth: When I run, almost always at some point I want to cry. Not because it’s hard, but because life is hard. Or, one might say that I’ve made my life really hard. I run because I’m really frustrated with how I let myself go again. I run when I miss my family and they feel far away. I run when I think of all the shitty things my ex did to me, said to me… I run when I feel overwhelmed, or don’t want to face how I’m feeling at all. I run because it burns major calories and melts fat but, I run towards the physical pain because the emotional pain of the last few years is too much to take at times. So I run, thinking I am running away from it. I sometimes imagine (not just zombies chasing me) but every heartache I’ve ever had growing smaller and smaller in the distance. I visualize a life I want on the horizon. It may seem corny, but it’s true. I keep thinking that if I run harder all the bad things will fall away from mind, my heart and leak out of my pores. And most times it feels exactly as if those very things are happening. I hear runners do this kind of thing a lot. It’s nice to know I’m not alone. I’m hoping that somewhere in the process the more I run, the more my mind will free itself of the doubt/fear/anger/pain I carry with me. And that’s where the real weight will be lost.
Be running up that road
Be running up that hill
Be running up that building
Say, if I only could…