running

I started running June 20, 1977.

Anyone who knows me well is probably wondering why I haven’t written about this by now.  It’s been such an integral part of my entire adult life that I suppose I take it for granted, and I know I shouldn’t. Whenever I sustain an injury, I remember how important it is to me. I can honestly say it is the only constant I have ever known. If I must be labeled, let me be labeled “runner.”

Back in the Paleolithic era of my childhood, pre-Title Nine, girls were not encouraged to exercise or play sports. We had “gym,” where we participated in a variety of activities, but none of it was taken seriously. We were required to wear bloomers, for Pete’s sake. Horrid red baggy shorts with Velcro at the legs. Good Lord, I hated those classes.

So of course, I thought I hated exercise in general.

If you couple that with all my childhood allergies, it’s something just short of a miracle that this lifelong habit developed. It was certainly against the odds.

My first ex-husband (yep, you read that correctly; there are multiples) thought he married a sorority girl. Oh, he knew I wasn’t, but I looked like his frat brothers’ sorority girl wives, so that was close enough for him. All the Sorority Girl Wives took up running in the mid-‘70’s, when the sport was just starting to come into the public’s consciousness. I can only assume the reason they ran was to avoid that inevitable weight gain that comes with marriage.

Naturally, Kevin wanted to know why I wasn’t running too. I’m pretty sure he asked that question over his standard dinner of fried chicken, French fries, and M & M’.s. [I’m really serious here. I didn’t see lettuce – or any vegetable - in my refrigerator for three long years.]

So that June day, before getting ready for work (not being required to be there until noon), whim and curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to give it a shot. I remember the flat red Adidas “sneakers” I owned at the time (shoes being only for show back then, not function). It’s probably a miracle I even owned a pair of shorts.

Knowing nothing about pacing, or the fact that if you go full out, you will last about three point two seconds, that is precisely what I did and about how long I lasted before I had to stop. Not a roaring success. And there was the minor complication of my being a smoker at the time.

But the next day I went out again. I can tell you honestly, I have no idea why. I got better, and by end of summer I could run through the apartment complex multiple times.

When winter came, I stopped…..but come spring, I started again. That, too, when I think of it, is kind of odd. I don’t know how I ever found the discipline to start all over again.

We joined a new racquetball club the next year. In the center of the building were weight machines with an indoor track around those. Yep, you guessed it….a nice, state of the art, padded and banked track…that was 26 laps to the mile. When the next winter came around, I went there to run instead of quitting. I wouldn’t find out for several more years that running outdoors in winter weather isn’t fatal.

Marriage number one fell apart and I used running for stress relief.

A new race was in town (the first one held in 1977), and I was starting to love running so much I thought I’d give it a try. A half marathon. 13.1 miles. Bill Rodgers even came to compete in 1978.

I kicked up my mileage to five miles a day, but about two months before the race, one of my ankles began to swell. A lot. I went to the sports doctor. That, too, a new concept. This sports doc was the only game in town back then.

He looks at my Nike Waffle Trainers….which I’d had so long, the entire backs of them were worn flat.

[Yes, there they are, in the photo below. One of my most cherished possessions.]

He asked where I was running and how far. When I told him about the indoor track, he had only a few words to say. “Get new shoes. Run outdoors.”

Now, you have to know, my parents, specifically my mother, had instilled in me a complete terror of asthma attacks and I thought surely running that far outdoors would do me in. Never mind that I planned to do exactly that two months later. Talk about convoluted logic. I remember that first outdoor run. I went slower than usual and paid attention. Nothing. No wheezing. No shortness of breath. I felt like a bird set free.

Ultimately, I ran the 500 Festival Mini-Marathon in 1980, 1981, and 1982…..

...and then again in 2005 and 2006. Remarkably, my recent times are comparable or better to those first races twenty-some years ago.

Running has taken me through two divorces, multiple moves, career changes, night school, deaths, and personal catastrophes. Running caused me to stop smoking for good and become something of a health nut. Running has surely kept me sane. Running helps me work out solutions to problems and feeds my creativity. There is nothing like air unsullied by exhaust fumes, birds waking, and a glimmer of sun over the eastern horizon to start a day. There is no better time to talk to God.

I had someone accuse me that I run "to impress men.” I laughed so hard at that idiotic comment that I nearly sprained something. Seriously. I run at 5:30am. Even if the streets were lined with men at that hour, all they’d see is a middle-aged woman in mismatched clothing, white legs turning pink from the cold, hair soaked with the effort, and exercise-induced snot running down her face. Yep. What guy wouldn’t be attracted to that?

My morning run seems to be failing me now, and I don’t understand why. This current type of stress has been different and even getting out the door to run has been a challenge. Maybe it’s just that this stress has gone on entirely too long and the mental wear and tear are more than a daily run can repair. I don't know what to do about it except keep trying.

So, next time you see me, don’t ask, “Are you still running?” Ask me, “Did you run today?”