A-running I will go

I've picked up this pesky habit lately.

I decided, several months ago when my life got picked up and dumped on it's ass, that I needed a new hobby. Something I could focus on to ease some inner pain, and prevent me from possibly killing people. After an extensive list of pros and cons, I was down to two choices: heavy drinking or heavy exercising.

I'll tell you, the pull of red wine was strong, but in the end the splitting headaches that came after two glasses of the stuff were enough to pull me to the gym side of my list. Also, I am quite fond of my liver and it's function within my body, so it was settled. I needed to work out. A LOT. Suddenly, going to the Y became my religion. Safe on the elliptical machine, book in hand, the world faded in to the background. Lifting weights made me feel the strength of my body and also assured me I could eat pretty much whatever I wanted when I went home with little or no consequences. But still...I needed something a little different.

So I started signing up for community races. It was innocent at first: a 5K sponsored by my sister's pharmacy in Bellingham, benefiting the Alzheimers Society. Another 5K here in Tacoma sponsored by my company, benefiting colon cancer research. The races were fun, walked with friends, Zoey along for the ride in her stroller, and my t-shirt collection was beginning to grow. But the people at the front of the line, the runners, fascinated me. Having never been a runner myself, and growing up with my mother, Our Lady of Perpetual Speed Walking, I've always settled happily for a good, brisk walk as a perfect way to exercise. But I'll be honest...signing up for the races was starting to pull me over to the dark side. All those people at the front of the line, setting their stopwatches and dressed for speed, the adrenaline rush the entire crowd could feel as they began to spill across the starting line...I was intrigued.

Fast forward to yesterday, the 4th of July, and Puyallup's City Blast 10K run/walk. This was the event I signed up for, dragging a friend from work along with me, with the idea in my head that I would at least run a portion of the race. Just to see if I could do it. 'A portion' being a relative term, I could always run three steps and stop if I felt like I was dying from an asthma attack. I had no set goal in my mind, only to feel the rush I've heard so many runners speak of in the past. My plan was to ease in to it...get a good couple miles of speed walking under my belt before busting in to a jog...but as we crossed the start line, Paul looked at me, said 'well, let's GO!', and we were off and running.

Maybe it was the music, or the rush of the crowd around us, but there was definitely a pull of excitement that came with running. We could pass people! Me, the girl who has never run a race in her life, and Paul, the self-proclaimed chubby ex-triathalon runner!

I might have made it a half mile before having to stop and walk for awhile. No matter. We picked up in a jog again soon enough, and I was even able to maintain a conversation while jogging. Not bad. The course was challenging and I felt like I was getting some good exercise. I may have only jogged a mile, total, but still...six miles of jogging/walking, complete with some pretty steep hills, felt like great exercise. I was extremely proud of myself for having run even 'a portion' of the race.

Which brings me to today. The day my quads are screaming at me and I feel as though someone may have accidentally kicked me in the left side of my butt. Clearly, I did not train properly for the running part of my race yesterday. I will have to start running some more while working out at the Y...because now Paul has set a new goal for us, which is to sign up for a 5K and run the entire course. I can't wait. Now that I know I won't have to run with an inhaler in my hand, the first thing I did after we got home last night was look up local races online, scouting for a 5K in the not-so-distant future.

Ready. Set. GO.