Run Mei, Run!

Running is hard. It hurts. It beats me up and reminds me just how weak I am. I am not a fast runner, nor a graceful runner. My man does an unflattering impression of the way I run, and it's more like a scoot than a run. Think more penguin, less gazelle.

On December 26th, 2006, I suddenly decided to register and train for the SLC Half Marathon to be held in April 2007. I made a 4-month training schedule, with my long runs on Saturdays. I would map out my route, beginning and ending at my house. On the way out, I usually ran past a little golf course called Swan Lakes. As spring approached and the weather became warmer, my scheduled runs became longer, and thank goodness the club house was open because it became my emergency pit stop. There is nothing worse than finding oneself miles away from home with an anxious bowel. NOTHING! I would rather have shin splints (which I did). I would rather get a migraine (and I had many). I would rather have my foot gnawed off by the ferocious rabbit from Monty Python and have to limp home, dragging a bloody stub. (This did not happen.) Bad things happen to your body during a long run. I had moments, or entire workouts, when I felt like I was wearing lead platform shoes and my tummy was grumbly and my lungs felt like they were being held in a bear hug, and I struggled through every single step of every mile. There were times that I winced with every step due to those nasty shin splints, and there were times that I would start losing my vision during a run and know that a migraine was on its way.

So why do I put myself through the torture? Why are we psychos compelled to take off running and not stop when we get tired? Isn't that a bit contrary to natural human tendencies? Yes. The answer is yes. It is unnatural. It is masochistic and punishing and glorious.

The first time I made it past 4 miles, I cried. I was so darn proud of myself that I cried. Then later, when I told Tim how I was feeling about my 4-mile accomplishment, I cried again. And then I felt like a complete idiot because who cries for joy after running 4 miles? Crazy people, that's who. Crazy freaks who are training their bodies to run 13.1 miles. For fun!

But I continue to run. Two years ago, I ran 13.1 miles WITH a migraine. Two months after that, I ran the Wasatch Back Relay for the second time, and after my first 3 miles, I looked like this:

And two years, 15 pounds, and a baby later, I ran 3.25 miles today and rejoiced. Running is full of ups and downs.

One thing I loved about my long Saturday runs is the opportunity I had to view the rural community in which I live with new eyes; I saw things that I never would have noticed in a car. I often ran past these trees during my 5th mile, and I fell in love with them. I love that these three trees stand alone in a large field, and I love the way they look during each season. I ran by crowing roosters, red barns, and small farms selling asparagus. I've run in the crisp early morning hours when the sky is pink, the birds are chirping, and my neighbors are still sleeping. I've run under the noon sun when my sweat stung my hot cheeks. I've run alone in the middle of the Wasatch Mountains at 3:00 am, and seen glowing eyes looking at me from the tall grass on the side of the road, with a curious coyote on the road ahead. I have experienced disappointment, like when my teammate Blake had to run a mile for me during my third and last leg of my second Wasatch Back Relay because I was too wussy. Or when I began to lose my vision at the starting line of the SLC Half Marathon, signaling a quickly approaching migraine. But the triumphs have far outweighed the frustrations. Like when, with the support of my man, I decided to run the race I had worked so hard to train for, despite the migraine (with my cell phone in my sweaty hand, just in case). Or when I took over for Blake and finished my last torturous mile of the WBR on my own. Or when I ran two miles for the first time after having the baby.

Running kicks my arse. But when it's good, it's guuuuuuuuuuud.