"I'm a runner"

I decided to start this blog on a whim. Just the way I decided to start running the first time.


And the second time.


I guess I should explain myself. I mean, isn't that what one of these things is for? These days, I'm not usually very spontaneous. As I've grown older I find myself planning life more and more. Picking out my clothes and packing my lunch each night before work. Making lists and schedules and deviating little from my plans once they've been penciled into my mind. I like to know ahead of time what to expect in any situation and I have to mentally prepare all week for a night out with my roommates.



Many who knew me when I was younger, especially in high school, can take this time to congratulate me on my apparently long-time-coming gain of maturity and conscientiousness. Those who know me now can roll their eyes that I'm championing my party-pooper antics.



But this blog isn't called, "How I've grown up over the last three years" or "I'm a big girl now." It's called "zero to thirteen point one" and it's intended purpose (I decided about twenty minutes ago) is to chronicle my journey to my first half-marathon.



"Whoop-dee-doo," you say. "A half-marathon. Sounds enthralling. I'll be sure to keep reading." It's okay, I don't blame you. By the ninth mile of the thirteen-mile race I'll probably be thinking the same thing.


But I hope that this doesn't turn into a running log, because I already have one of those. And they're boring to read. Who cares if today was "hot, windy.. went 2.7 miles... side ache on my right side toward the end." Even I never re-read my log.

No, I'm hoping that this becomes less about running and more about strength. I hope that the next four months really are a "journey" to self-discovery or inner-strength or some deep phrase quoted by Buddha or Ghandi.

When I first started running, it wasn't because I wanted to get in shape or reach my goals. Heck, I was a 95-pound, flat-chested freshman in high school. If anything, I wanted to gain weight. And goals, huh. My goal for the year was to snag a cute boyfriend. Which leads me to why I began running: my friends were doing it and there were boys on the team.

Why I began is different than why I continued and why I pushed through the pain and why I persevered. I liked being in control. I liked being able to "keep running, keep running" even though my lungs were burning and my legs felt like rubber. I liked the feeling when I kicked to the finish line and inched out that other girl. And of course, I did happen to catch some cute boys from the xc team along the way.

Why I stopped. That's been the hardest thing for me to discern. People might suggest that I stopped because I was entering college and everything was new. That I got lazy and my priorities changed. But what people don't understand is I stopped long before college. I stopped running in October of 03. Even though I logged hundreds of miles and races after that, my heart wasn't in it and it showed in my performances. There was no more passion. There was no more determination. I wasn't a runner anymore.

Like I said, I'm not sure what caused it and I honestly have never addressed it until now. It was the xc sectional meet my sophomore year. I was preparing to run a hard race and help my team advance to state. But something clicked inside me. It was like the fire that had been building for a year and a half was suddenly snuffed out. After watching the top JV runner earn her record-best time, I got scared. Selfishly scared. Scared for my position on the Varsity team. Scared that someone else would be commended for her feats. Scared that running was no longer "mine".

And as we edged the starting line, I didn't feel it anymore. My coach always told me that I ran like a horse, meaning I didn't think about pace or pain or anything other than to "keep running"--the mantra I repeated to myself during races. And after that day, when I stood on the line, I was more afraid than I was excited. It wasn't the anxious feeling you get, knowing that you're trying to set a record best. Or when you see that girl from the last race who had slipped past you at the end by a millisecond. It was fear.

I became the joke of the team, especially the boys. I couldn't laugh and goof around on the bus ride to the course anymore. I couldn't gossip during the warm up run with the other girls. I was so focused on not crying. Not puking. Just finishing the race and not letting anyone down. But I did cry. And I did quit. Race after race.

So when the season ended in spring my senior year, I was done. I ran a little when I first got to college, just because it created a familiarity in an unknown place, but once I had settled in to my new home with my new friends, I just stopped. I didn't run. I didn't exercise at all. I joked with other non-runners about "why run when no one is chasing you?" I had lost the fire and I never thought I'd get it back. And I really didn't care if I didn't.

Of course, like any college girl--or any human, really--I started to gain weight. It's a simple equation: junk food+ late nights+ free frozen yogurt - exercise = freshman 15. So I decided to start exercising to get rid of the extra lining I had acquired. After a week, I stopped. I was "too busy", "too tired", and "no one would go with me"...any excuse I could make. A semester later, I tried again. Again, I dwindled until I reverted back into my laziness. This happened time and time again.


This summer, I have a set schedule, just as I like it. I know what to expect and my days never vary. I began an internship with the NFHS in May. All day, every day I talk about high school sports. I write about high school sports. I research high school sports. I never thought it would have the effect on me that it did. Seeing the pictures and interviewing the athletes, hearing their stories about what makes them compete. Reading the records and reviewing the rules... It got me thinking about my high school sports experiences. I realized that I miss my team. I miss the starting line. And I miss being a runner.

So I started running. Every day after work--a new schedule, just as I like it. And I'm planning ahead. Setting goals. I never realized that for year I had never set a single goal. In anything. Which obviously means, I haven't broken any goals in years. How sad that seems. That I was just wandering. I decided to set the bar high and really test myself to see what I can take. My friends think it's a phase. They roll their eyes when I talk about running. They think I'm doing it to get in shape. They don't understand the weight of it. The life change I'm making. All they see is me heading out each afternoon in my running gear--they don't see the pain and the mental games and the ultimate success when I just "keep running." But I'm not doing it for them. I'm doing it for me. Because each time I start out, I feel the passion and the fire.


Earlier today, my boss was talking about the annual Corporate Challenge--a city-wide competition in running and sporting events between companies across Indy. I told him it sounded like fun. Sign me up!

He asked me, "Are you a biker?"
"No," I told him with a smile. "I'm a runner."