Category Archives: Running

lung capacity: 0

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True to my word, November to March has been dedicated entirely to the art of dessert exercise.  And that was the most excellent workout idea I’ve ever had.  However, I have discovered that coming out of a strict dessert regime and back into the ‘real world’ of working out is really not very enjoyable.

Yesterday was my first run in months, and I think that my lungs have been smoking two packs a day without telling me.  I gasped for air like a grounded fish.   I felt cheated.  I mean, I know I haven’t worked lately, but it felt like I had never run a day in my life. I had no idea that it was possible to deteriorate so far out of shape in such a (relatively…) short amount of time, and I would like to let the powers that be know how much I really don’t appreciate that.

Also, this whole debacle made me question my judgment.  Why did I run track and cross country in high school?  Did I seriously use to run for fun?  And what on earth was I thinking when I volunteered for a half marathon later this year?  Clearly my synapses have not been connecting well because yesterday clearly proved that running is torture.  Next thing you know, I’ll be taking a cruise to Guantanamo…

Marathon Man, without the tooth drilling

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I thought I’d finally take the time to sit down and write about my race last weekend.  The concept of running in the Denver Marathon all began at a bright and cheery graduation celebration in May; the race was actualized on rainy, windy, cold day in October.  A bait and switch of the worst kind.  Lesson: one should never make decisions about running when they are eating at a dessert buffet, because everything seems like a good idea while eating an eclair.

We were entered into the team marathon, which was basically 4 people dividing the race into more manageable chunks.  Kind of like a funsized Snickers sans the chocolatey goodness.  Anyway, I was the anchor leg of the relay, also known as the part curse part blessing leg.

Curse:  It was a constant slow rain, not really too heavy but just a never-ending downpour of cold.  I was downtown by 7:15 to drop off our first runner, and then we spent most of the race driving from spot to spot to transfer the runners.  I found this to be difficult because 1) I was the designated driver for most of the drop-offs and pickups.  I don’t know if you’ve ever tried driving around downtown when the majority of the streets are blocked off by runners, but I don’t recommend trying it.  2) You can’t expect the runner who’s finishing the race to know where to come find the car, thus you have to get out to find them.  My feet were completely soaked before the first runner was done.

When it was finally my turn, I was quite wet and ready to go home.  This is the perfect way to start a race, it turns out.  Not being cold anymore is excellent motivation to run.  Not only do you run to stay warm, but you run as fast and as hard as you can to finish and end the misery for good.  But even better motivation was all the people cheering — this was my favorite part of the race.

Blessing:  You see, the relay teams run the same course as the actual marathoners, and I was the last leg.  So as I was struggling along with my 7 miles, I would get these people yelling “YOU ARE SO AWESOME! ALMOST THERE!  KEEP GOING!  YOU’RE ABOUT TO FINISH!  LOOK AT THAT PACE-WAY TO GO!”  Turns out that people running marathons get some serious support, and I was intermixed with those all those people about to complete this major accomplishment.  I seriously enjoyed that enthusiastic yelling, even though I knew that they thought they were cheering for someone running the whole marathon.  But I didn’t want to stop liking all the cheering by thinking about the fact that at my mile 5 I looked like I was in a similar state to someone at their mile 24.   So the way I dealt with this cognitive dissonance was by pretending like I was in fact finishing a real marathon instead of a 7 mile run.

And man, that was the best marathon of my life.  Clearly, I am born to run.   But even people who are born to run need to take recovery days.  I think my recovery days shall occur during the months of October to March.  I’m re-dedicating those months to the glory of the dessert buffet — that’s an important kind of training too.

Ready to Run

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I am dreadfully out of shape. I have somehow convinced myself that all those hours spent in the gym and running on the track when I was younger would somehow carry over through college and beyond. But now that I have started training for a team marathon in October, I have discovered that perhaps that theory is slightly less than correct.

Tonight I went for a run that, against all odds, turned into a spectacular success. I started out my run around 8:30, realizing immediately that my dinner of french fries and a large cup of cookies&cream frozen custard was perhaps not the best pre-run meal. But I pushed through, and I was going strong. That is until I got about a mile in. This is the point where the neighborhoods meet the park, conveniently located for gaggles of bratty middle school kids to congregate. (You can tell they’re middle schoolers because they are far enough away from parents to be “cool” but not old enough to actually drive themselves any place worth going.) As I approached, there was an incessant amount of high pitched voices. I think the group consisted mostly of girls, though one really can’t truly tell by the sound of pre-pubescent voices… Anyways, lots of talking as I approached, complete silence as I ran past, and a chorus of laughter as soon as they left my peripheral vision.

I was stunned. Really. I mean, not that I was really ever cool to begin with, but I felt like I had then sunk to an even lower level than my own middle school days. (Then I realized about 10 seconds later that that wasn’t really conceivably possible and felt slightly mollified.) But they threw off my groove. I hate middle school kids. It wasn’t until I left the park that I remembered that I am a college graduate with high distinction who’s about to start a real job, while all they have to look forward to in their immediate futures is braces and zits. This was the turning point of the workout.

These thoughts carried me to about the halfway point, usually the point when I feel like I’m about to die and that some force of evil is trying to tear open my lungs with a hack saw. But today I was surprisingly okay. Because after I was done thinking about how awful it was going to be for those little snots to have to change for gym class, I realized that I could continue predicting their lives past the misery that is middle school.

For example, I started with the blond girl wearing the too-tight Hollister shirt and too-heavy eyeliner. My analysis began with a basic assumption of what I knew. Based on the neighborhood, I’m guessing that both parents work and don’t spend enough time with her, thus buying her love and affection by setting no limits and by taking her shopping for inappropriate clothing. From there, I extrapolated an appropriate ending. All through high school, said girl goes fake tanning and over-bleaches her hair, and likely is the type that always needs a boyfriend. She will not have the grades to get into college anywhere decent and will thus end up attending one of the small schools in South Dakota that sent her brochures in the mail. She’ll join a sorority and struggle through college, mostly because her drinking habits created a Freshman 30 that made male companionship a bit more difficult to come by and the education a bit more difficult to work for. She’ll graduate college and find a job at Old Navy, hoping against the odds that she can make it to the position of manager sometime within the next 10 years. At which point she’ll look back on her life and say, “I really wish that I wasn’t so dumb. It all started that day when I laughed at the runner in the park…”

Now, you can imagine that such extensive profiling leaves little time to worry about how much your lungs hurt. By the time I created futures for all of them, I was almost back home. I was shocked. My french-fry-and-ice-cream-run had turned into one of my most successful workouts and one of my lowest mile times. At that point, I decided to forgive the laughing kids. By the time I was home, I thought that maybe if I jogged back quickly enough, the kids might still be there and I could invite them to my race in October and see if they’re willing to help me insult my way to victory.

Some people will tell you that exercise creates endorphins. I wonder if chemicals that create positive moods are cancelled out by spending the whole work out sending mean wishes to the future of obscure 14 year olds?