Tag: running

Adventures in Running

 

image courtesy of ^@^ina via Flickr's Creative Commons

 

I’m not sure I’m going to make it to try this half marathon. It’s not the distance that has me so concerned (although, the distance does have me concerned) but, rather, surviving the training that has me nervous.

This past weekend I, once again, headed out to a park to complete a run, this time five miles. Previously, I looked at the map of all the trails, and I noticed a trail that was a 5.5 mile loop. Perfect, I thought. I can run the five miles and walk the last .5 to cool down. However, once I arrived at the park, I had the feeling that this run would not turn out perfect.

Unlike the last time when I felt so cool arriving at the park around 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning, only to find out that there are a lot of cool people (do people even say ‘cool,’ anymore? The fact that I’m asking shows how cool I really am), this time I was one of a handful of people. Granted, I was at the other side of the park this time, and my arrival was closer to 7:30 a.m., but I felt a little nervous getting out of my car to run under that gray sky.

I proceeded, though. Matt knew where I was, I told him how long the run should take me, and I took Tae Kwan Do for a few months when I was 17; I was good to go. I locked my wallet in the glove compartment, tied my key around my shoe lace, grabbed my phone, and started walking toward the big map of the park.

I knew where I was going, but I wanted to double-check my route. It looked easy enough–I’d walk about a half mile on one loop, pick up another trail, and then the entrance to the five mile trail should cut into that second trail near the beginning. I started my walk, anxious to begin, wondering if I would struggle or find my groove on my big run.

As I entered the second route, I began looking for signs for the five mile trail. I remembered passing them on previous runs, so I knew I wasn’t far. Almost immediately, I saw a wooden sign pointing the way to the entrance…except I didn’t see an actual entrance. All the other trails that I had run were very clearly marked–white lines divided the pavement into two halves, and there were even arrows painted on the ground to signal how to exit the one loop to pick up another. However, I wasn’t noticing any of these clues. Hmm, I thought. I’ll just keep walking. After all, I knew there were a few entrances since the trail was a loop.

I walked, enjoying the quiet and the music on my iPhone. As I came upon the wooden marker showing that I had walked a half mile on this trail, I noticed another wooden marker showing the entrance to the five mile trail. Except I didn’t see an entrance. I saw grass. A field. And woods. “What the heck?” I said audibly, and I just stood for a minute. Now I was frustrated. Between the two loops, I had already walked about a mile, and I hadn’t even begun my run yet. “How am I lost on a trail with a big map and signs everywhere?” Yes, I said that audibly, too. I was talking to myself, but that was okay since I was alone on a trail on a cloudy, gray Saturday morning.

And then I knew exactly how I was lost. I was still the same woman who tried to get to a leadership retreat in Destin, Florida with some friends by taking 1-75 South. After driving for about five hours, we bought a map at the gas station and realized we were in the middle of the state instead of in the Panhandle, which, of course, is the northwest of the state. After screaming for a few minutes, we took every back road in the state to Destin and made our trip in about nine hours instead of six.

I was still the same woman who felt her stomach drop and her head get light when she was handed a compass and told she would navigate her group through the outdoors during the deployment exercise, the final project of Officer Training School. Thank God a hurricane came rushing through Alabama, forcing us on lockdown in our rooms for three days. My group might still be out in the woods had it not.

So I continued on past the marker, thinking that, once again, this sign was just pointing the way to an entrance up ahead. I walked, and when I saw that I was nearing the entrance to the first loop, I turned around. I head back to the wooden marker, stopped in front of it, and stared.

It clearly said, “Entrance to 5.5 mile trail.” I looked at the field. I looked at the grass. I looked at the woods, and I started to walk. My feet stepped through the grass until they felt dirt and pebbles and roots underneath. Yes, I was entering the woods alone on a Saturday morning with nothing but my phone, key, and Tae Kwan Do skills. And in that moment, I remembered that a body was found at this park recently.

I shook off the thought. I let a brief feeling of triumph wash over me because I had, in fact, found the trail. It wasn’t a paved trail, yet, but I clearly was on the path of the 5.5 mile loop. I started running, but not on purpose. The trail immediately sloped downward, and I jumped over roots as I made my way down. As I dodged a branch, I thought, This is ridiculous. I’ll just go a little further until this natural path leads into the paved loop where I will find a crowd of people joyously running in a five mile circle while little birds sing above their heads in a sunny sky full of puffy, white clouds.

Yeah, that didn’t happen. I did see a deer, though. As I came to a flat surface and could stop hurdling over roots and dodging tree branches, I looked to my right where I saw her. She was beautiful. I tried to remain still so I wouldn’t scare her away, and I stared. She stared back. “Hi,” I offered.

I had hoped that we would have a spiritual moment that transcended the need for language, that we could communicate in the forest together and find harmony. Instead, she looked at me and pounded her hoof into the ground two times.

I didn’t need to understand ‘deer’ to understand that deer. She was calling her family, and I now knew how the body found in the woods had met his demise. He pissed off a deer and was trampled to death by her and her family. So I turned around and ran back up the trail, looking, but not stopping, at the six deer that were hidden on the other side of the forest. Yeah, if I was going to die, I didn’t want my obituary to read Local girl dies after being trampled to death by a herd of deer. No, it needed to read Local girl dies after vicious bear attack. Bear found alive but with broken arm and puncture wound most likely made by a key.

I returned to the second loop, and walked around to where it picked up the first loop. I called Matt to tell him I was on my way home. I had walked nearly three miles in the hopes of running five. Yeah, it was time to go home and get help reading a map.

I hate fitting the role of the stereotypical woman who gets lost all the time. I want to ask for others to comment if they can relate, but maybe, instead, I should ask for stories from women who have a great sense of direction. Make us look better than I!

 

Four Miles

As I tied my shoe laces Saturday morning, I felt such pride in myself. It was 7:30 a.m., and here I was getting ready for a run while the rest of my town was sleeping. I grabbed a banana and my water bottle and headed to the car. Today was the day–four miles–and I was going to get them done while the air was cool and crisp, while my neighbors snuggled under their warm blankets.

But as I pulled into the packed parking lot of the park, I realized I wasn’t nearly as awesome as I thought. Evidently, a lot of people exercise early on Saturday morning. Nevertheless, I got out of the car ready to start my goal, albeit feeling slightly less important.

About a month ago, I had decided I wanted to train for a half marathon. I had run one about six years before, before I had kids, before I had become, apparently, out of shape. The training so far wasn’t going as well as I’d hoped. Running long distances has never been easy for me, but the first time I trained, I was able to increase my mileage each week. Now–well, let’s just say that if those heart sensors on treadmills had an alarm that goes off when one’s heart is about to explode, the paramedics would be ready and waiting most days of my training.

Prior to a race where Matt and I pretended to be runners only to almost die

This particular Saturday was no different. As my feet hit the pavement, my mind was thankful for the cool morning air and a change in scenery from the gym, but my body didn’t care; it wanted to go to bed. I knew from past experience that I take a few minutes to get going, to get a good pace and rhythm, but after five minutes, I was already struggling. My legs didn’t want to move, and I had to pee. Why, no matter how many times that I pee before starting, do I still have to pee two minutes into a run (I would guess childbirth has something to do with that answer. You men have it so good)?

It’s way too early to quit, I told myself. So I moved along and decided by a mile in, I’d find my groove. But after running one mile, I was still running at the pace of toddler learning to walk. I tried to stay positive and kept going. I smiled as a little chipmunk scurried in front of my path. I reflected on the wonder of God as a beam of light rays pushed through the tree branches ahead of me. I found a moment of joy.

And then I watched the 70-year-old man pass me on the left while I was contemplating if my own lungs would collapse.

I had run almost two miles, and I was still struggling. The little inclines were killing me. I was huffing and puffing. My legs felt tired, and my breathing hadn’t adjusted to a comfortable rhythm. I never found my groove.

I might have to stop. I didn’t want to have to holler after that 70- year-old that I was dying and needed his help to get me to my car so that I could go to Starbucks. I was ready to quit.

But I couldn’t.

My plan said I was supposed to run four miles that day, and if I didn’t run four, then the rest of the weeks of training would be that much harder.

So I kept going, shuffling my feet one in front of the other, hoping I didn’t see anyone I knew. But then something amazing happened.

Shortly after two miles, I noticed I could breathe. All of sudden, my body began to run on its own instead of me forcing it to move. I was now running at the pace of a four-year-old walking. I had found my groove. For the next two miles, I ran. I even passed some people. On a long, flat stretch, I picked up the pace again, and for a few moments, I slightly enjoyed myself.

When I saw the small, wooden sign marking my goal, I pushed myself and yearned for that finish. And when I finished, I felt good. My face was beat red, my stomach hurt, and I wanted to throw up–but I felt good. I could finally pee. I had finished. I had finished.

I wonder how many times we quit something one mile too soon.


While I was running, I felt like for the first time I could truly understand what it means to run with perseverance the race marked out for us, 2 fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith (Hebrews 12: 1-2). Sometimes marriage is not easy. Raising kids is not easy. Having a positive attitude at work is not easy. Sometimes, it’s easier to quit.

But if we would’ve held on for one more mile, would we have finally found our groove? Or would God have sent a little chipmunk or light rays through the branches of a tree to cause us to smile for a moment, distracting us from the discomfort of not being able to breathe easily, giving us just enough of a boost to continue a little further?

I’m convinced that my life is very much like running four miles. For some, they seem to run with ease, passing me on the left while I’m huffing and puffing and wondering if this is the end for me. But there are always those moments, always those moments scattered throughout my run to bring a smile to my face. And once in a while, I even fall into a groove, and when I do, I’m always glad that I didn’t fall down on the ground and ask the 70-year-old man to take me to Starbucks instead.

Two days ago, I watched my two-year-old daughter play with her best friend. I’ve never seen two children so small actually play with one another and not just alongside one another. They talked in their baby voices and laughed and chased each other, and they gave me that boost I needed to run uphill that day. So when I was digging through my son’s poop later that day looking for a Lego, I just thought of those sweet, little girls and realized now was not the time to throw in the towel–even though I still hadn’t found that stupid Lego and will have to dig again later this week.