I’ve been running for a little over a month now. Every Sunday with a run club and a few times during the week. My run club gives me running homework and I’m supposed to run five days a week, but I usually only run three. Or two. I like to lift weights when I go to the gym. Or take a class. Or anything but run.
So why do I do it? Because I have friends that push me. Friends that lie and say they hate running too and yet there they are running. If they can do it, I can do it. Even though I run so slowly. I’m always one of the last runners in. And my friends are there waiting for me when I finish, high-fiving me and telling me that I’m awesome and if there’s one thing I love it’s to hear that I’m awesome (even if it’s bullshit) so I keep running.
Also, since ending my Just Lose It program and taking up running I’ve lost an additional four and a half pounds. I stepped on the scale yesterday and saw my goal weight staring back at me. I immediately stepped off and stepped back on again, not trusting the number. But there it was again. I’ve lost 16 1/2 pounds in three months. Eating right, lifting weights, and running – it turns out it is possible to lose weight after the age of 45. (Who knew?)
And so I run.
Yesterday I ran four miles – four miles – and every step was tortuous. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t getting easier – it is. But it’s still hard. And terrible. I still hate every heart-pounding, joint-jarring, sweat-inducing, very unpleasant step.
I run intervals – which means you run for a certain amount of time and then you walk for a minute. I’m on the lowest interval (meaning I run for the shortest amount of time compared to the other runners in the club – the real runners, the runners who are doing a half marathon in two weeks) so I run for eight minutes and then walk for one. Or one and a half. (Or maybe sometimes two. Accidentally of course.) It’s hard to tell because this is what my watch looks like…
The second hand doesn’t really work -it kind of jumps- so it’s not a good timing watch. It’s hard to see the precise time. So it’s not really my fault if I walk a little too long. (Or run a little too short.)
Yesterday on my run -when my friends were a half mile ahead of me- a woman pushing a double jogging stroller with a toddler and a small dog seated inside turned the corner and ran alongside of me. I was keeping pace with someone pushing 50 pounds!
“She’s breathing really hard, Mommy,” the
snot-nosed adorable little girl said.
“Yes, Mommy breaths hard when she runs too,” the running mom said effortlessly. I wonder if she lies to her kid like that all the time. I guess I should be grateful. She could have been honest. She could have said, “That’s because she’s old and only pretending to be a runner.”
I mean really, what kind of lunatic takes up running at the age of 48?
I suppose one that wants to stay
thin healthy. One that wants to prove to herself that she can do something she never thought she could do. One that knows hard things are worth doing.
But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.