30 Years + 50 Days
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I am not a runner. But I run…
I run to catch connecting flights, to get to work on time when LA traffic exercises its demons, and to burn calories, usually on a treadmill, with an occasional beach or sidewalk run when I’m away from my glorious, air-conditioned gym. I sweat like a sumo wrestler, breathe the wrong way, and count the minutes and seconds until I finish whatever futile running goal I set for myself. This is always about 4 miles (or less). This doesn’t mean my workout ends at 36 or so minutes…I just have to switch to some other form of cardio before I exercise MY demons. I hit the running wall like a Mini Cooper hits a semi-truck. Like I said…I’m not a runner…
This past May a couple of my friends ran the LA Marathon. It was totally inspiring and at their finish line I brazenly considered training for it for next year. But after downing greasy cheese fries amongst the crowd chaos and the excited afterglow wore off…I sighed (in relief) and admitted…
My happy place just does not exist in running. I never get to the “natural high” running enthusiasts are always talking about. Give me a dance class and I can go, go, go with a real smile on my face. Make me run ten laps in gym class and I’m like an angry, homicidal gerbil on a wheel. I feel great after I finish the stupid run. But during? Yikes. And if I don’t have heart-thumpin’ music? Fuggettaboutit.
Yet…all of this didn’t stop me from running a 10K this past Sunday morning. At 7:30 a.m. Meaning I had to get up at 5:30 a.m. and be there by 6:30-ish, so it was still completely black out when I slept-walked out my front door. I know. That just isn’t right.
But when a friend asked if I wanted to run since his company was one of the race’s sponsors…and that it was the LA Cancer Challenge…how could I say no? As I mentioned before my father is a cancer survivor. Sure the LA C.C. was to raise money for pancreatic cancer research and my dad had lymphoma, but cancer is cancer and any stride towards a cure is a good thing for all. Plus I kind of wanted to challenge myself. See if my “I suck at distance running and should never entertain the idea of a marathon” thoughts were true. I mean, I survived a 5K a few years ago—The Nike Run Hit Wonder in downtown LA. Every mile mark they literally built mini stages where bands played their one popular song (fun for us, depressing and annoying for the bands—but a paycheck nonetheless). It ended with a full concert with Joan Jett of “I Love Rock and Roll” fame and never-ending bagels and bananas. And I love me a good bagel!
But like I said…less than 4 miles and I’m cool. It’s around the 4-mile mark that things start to get ugly. But this is one benefit to The New Twenty. Sometimes you’re willing to try things you wouldn’t have during your Old Twenty days—for better or worse. A 10K never would’ve made my “freshman 15” radar. I was too busy doing things that were actually, truly fun.
The daily forecast was 74 degrees and partly sunny and the early morning hours were crisp and damp in that perfect mild fall morning way. There was free beef on a stick (huh?) and coffee (yessssss!!!) before race time. Bonus points for the “bag your stuff in a trash bag with your race number on it” system so you don’t have to carry any personal belongings. Although it would’ve been hilarious to try and run 6.2 miles with my purse and USC sweatshirt in tow.
I found my way to the 9-10 minute mile line-up. My marathon man friend headed toward the 7-8 minute group. Show off.
While I’m not a runner I sure looked the part in my Saucony sneaks, Lucy sport capri pants, sports bra, tank, headband, iPod, and wireless heart monitor (to track my calories burned, time, etc.). I picked an old “workout” playlist and went to town. Or huffed, puffed, and silently swore to town, anyway…
Did I mention I developed a little knee issue when I obsessively ran inclines on the treadmill a few months back? That is aging my friends. I used to dance ballet for hours in pointe shoes, toes bleeding, and get up the next day and do it again—no problemo. Now? A few treadmill sprints and I had to cease and desist incline running altogether. Yeah. SO not The New Twenty here. And…of course it turns out this course was at least 60% uphill. My heart rate skyrocketed within the first twenty seconds and pretty much stayed there the whole time. I could see the headlines already:
“30 Year-Old Woman Dies of Heart Attack at .05 Mile Mark of 10K.”
(Implied: So dreadfully sad/pathetic. Clearly this woman is a moron. Completely delusional when it comes to her health and physical condition. And who runs 10K’s when you’re not a runner?!)
But my heart and left knee somehow plowed along. I found myself playing little mind games to keep on trucking, like:
- For the next minute pretend like you’re running from a mugger. A desk job. Love. Just kidding. Kind of….
- If you survive the next mile you can go to The Counter for dinner and indulge in whatever gourmet burger smothered in herbed goat cheese your heart desires. And get a milkshake. With real ice cream. You know you want it…yes you do…
- If you dare sit down or walk you must do 40 push-ups and write 10 pages every day for the next week. And give $5 to every single homeless person you pass (a lot in LA)…
Oh, it went on…but I’ll spare you…
I made extra effort to smile at the wide array of Veteran spectators (the LA Cancer Challenge is on the VA campus in Westwood near UCLA) because they always smiled back, giving me a little boost. I didn’t always smile at the ridiculous amount of photographers snapping away at every mile mark. That would be false advertising. The run was like going to war with myself…and even though that technically means I have to win…I didn’t know if I’d live to celebrate.
Ok, I’m being melodramatic. But seriously, those last two miles were rough. And I still hold a grudge against that water station planning committee. They had water at almost every mile mark except the 3 mile point?! Not half way? Meaning no water between miles 2-4? Really??
But I did it. I ran the whole time (except for quick gulps of begrudged water). It was a little sad to not have anyone at the finish line to cheer me across, but I got over it. Strangers pretended to care. My time was 57:56, meaning I averaged a 9.28-minute mile. I was happy with that, again considering most of the track was uphill. The best part was looking like a completely disgusting no make-up sweaty mess in front of Jim. And I didn’t give a shit. Or ok, I did a little, but what can you do? We ran a 10K for crying out loud! At The New Twenty!
The repercussions?
My feet throbbed on Sunday. Shin and calf pain on Monday. By today I’m almost totally back to normal. This morning’s weight training circuit followed by a hardcore stretch routine helped. I might have scared some of my fellow gym rats with my crazy facial expressions of PAIN as I rolled out my calf muscles with the black foam roller. It never felt so fucking horrible/good. Like a cheap Chinese massage on the Venice boardwalk.
So I’m not a runner. And I doubt I’ll ever be a runner. But I still run. Because I can and because it’s a challenge. A metaphor for life so to speak. But if you think I was going to say after all this that I am going to run a marathon, you’re crazy. No f-ing way. But. Hmm…maybe a half marathon…