Running and Races

I first ran seven miles when I was on an Outward Bound trip in southeastern Utah. We had been canyoneering in the Canyonlands for 28 days in October (I took a semester off from college the fall of my sophomore year to figure out if I wanted to return to Minnesota). We hiked in the desert with everything on our backs, climbed rocks, rappeled down them, slept on the ground under tarps and in a cave during a snowstorm to avoid hypothermia. It was an amazing trip in an amazingly beautiful part of this country. What I didn't know, was after all that, on the last day, we had to run seven miles to get to the bus that would take us back to Moab. At least they didn't make us run with our packs. It was during this run that I first experienced a runner's high.

My first race was nine years ago on Sept 12, 1999 when I wanted to run the Race for the Cure, since my mother had been diagnosed with Breast Cancer (she has been cancer-free since then!). I was in pretty great shape then. I finished a respectable race time at: 28:48.

Flash forward to April 29, 2007 and the Lehigh Valley Half Marathon. I was sidelined by injuries (shin splints), so I ran six miles of it instead of the full thirteen. I didn't earn a time, but cheered on my friends Liz and Maura. I was disappointed, because I wanted to finish it as goal for my birthday that year, a big milestone year.

My brother-in-law, Doug, is a runner and he and my sister, Missy, were registered to run in the Portland, Maine Irish Road Rover 5K on March 9, 2008. I said I was game, but really was woefully in poor shape. I did it and "ran" (racewalked, is more like it) a 39:29. The ambulances and race sweepers were fast on my heels--I think they even swept me toward the finish. It was dismal, but I finished. That day I also lost a bid I put in on a condo.

Flash forward again to August 2,2008 and the Beach to Beacon 10K in Cape Elizabeth, Maine. We had to get up at 4:30 a.m. to drive to the race start, over half an hour away. It was cloudy and not too hot; I surprised myself by never stopping to walk and managed to do it in 1:12:35. A decent 11-12 minute mile.

Today, October 4, 2008, I ran in the Somerville Homeless Coalition 5K. I was hoping to do better than my awful Irish Road Rover performance. My time wasn't the only thing that felt awful that day -- every step felt awful. I just kept thinking godammit, another hill?! or when is this thing gonna be over?!! as Doug calmly ran beside me, not running off and doing better (because he could have). Today was different. Conditions were great, despite being stopped twice on the city streets to let fire engines pass, and actually running by the house that had smoke pouring out of its chimney. I finished it in 31:30. Not far off from that Race for the Cure run almost ten years ago when I felt like I was in such good shape. I feel pretty good about that.

Despite all that I've written so far, running is not only about the races and times for me, but how I feel during a particular run (or jog). I have a love-hate relationship with it, but mostly love it, or I wouldn't keep doing it. For me, entering a race is like paying for a gym membership: I want to get my money's worth. I also need a goal, something for which to train. (It also helps that I'm trying to get in shape and these races and the training I'm doing is helping me to lose weight).

I love the things most runners say about the sport: you can do it almost anywhere, the only equipment you need is a good pair of shoes, I can compete against myself and try for my personal best, the runner's high (and during a race, the camaraderie of the other runners and the observers and volunteers who cheer you on). It's also (a cliche, but) a metaphor for life. Some days are good, some are bad. Some days I don't have time, so I do a quick run, some days every step is an effort, and others, well, the time flies by.

Next up: November 1, 2008 Great Osprey Ocean Run 10K.