I went running today. Which I guess normally is not all that unusual, since as a cross-country and track-and-field veteran of four years, I've put a lot of mileage on my shoes. However, as of late, I've been leading the sedentary life style: waking up, eating, watching TV, eating, reading, and sleeping. Maybe a short bike ride or two if I want to mix things up, but nothing strenuous. The last time I ran was April 24th, the day of our League Finals and I was in the 800.
I bought a new pair of running shoes yesterday, and, finally, I ran out of excuses on why not to run.
I'd never planned to be a runner. I always thought of myself as the quiet type, the shy girl who would lead a nunnish, bookish life. After all, I already had the nerdy glasses and bookshelves crammed with books. Running was something I stumbled upon. It wasn't love at first sight nor was it a passionate whirlwind affair of romance novels. But slowly, I grew to love this sport because it gave me an opportunity to prove myself. I grew to love it because it felt good to feel my lungs burning after a five-mile hill workout, knowing I pushed myself to my limit of endurance and that I can, and will, do better next time. It felt great to watch my legs transform from tiny cinnamon sticks to sculptured calves that rippled when I flexed. And I loved the camaraderie of my team, for they became my second family.
But as seasons passed, I became jaded and narrow-minded. I ran only so that I could be faster than everybody else and each time I competed it was only so that I could PR. I lost sight of why I initially loved the sport. Running became stressful for me, because I only thought about getting better, and hating myself when I didn't. It wasn't fun anymore, and sometimes, I would secretly wish that I wasn't as fast as I was, and therefore my coach would have lower expectations of me.
I even considered quitting track my junior year, but, I'm ashamed to say, selfishness made me stop. I wanted to be an outstanding female athlete at our school, and I knew that if I joined track and field, I would be guaranteed a spot on the varsity team. But it wasn't until this year that I realized what I was doing to myself. It was probably the college application process and thinking ahead to the future that I realized, it shouldn't matter how I'm doing in my events. In the long run, it's not about breaking a 5:30 mile that should matter, it's about enjoying what I'm doing.
And that's what I thought, when I laced up my running shoes today. I only ran two miles, and probably at 10-minute-mile pace, but I relished every moment of it and can't wait to go running again.
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2 comments:
"passionate whirlwind affair of romance novels" I like!
reading your post left me nostalgic for those days years ago when we used to run together
Last time I did track and field was in eighth grade. I was a sprinter. I did the 100 and ran as anchor in the 4x100. Unfortunately I, being my usual lazy self, only went to practice about once a week. But there wasn't a single meet that I missed. Clearly there was something missing in my approach to the sport. I loved the competition, loved the feel of crossing the finish line first, loved the cheers of enthusiastic audience members. What I didn't love was practice.
The high school track coach tried to recruit me, and with a 12.5-second personal record, I would have made varsity as a freshman. Problem? Practice was required. No practice, no meet. And so guess what I did? I quit. Just like that. And then I was just another sedentary, devoid-of-a-social-life, academic-oriented, violin-playing nerd. Fun.
After a few years of absolutely no physical activity, I took up jogging. VERY SLOW jogging. I'm terrible at cross-country. I have no stamina. Seriously. Like, the first time I ran a sub-10-minute mile, I celebrated like there was no tomorrow.
I, too, have grown to love running, but not for the burning of lungs or muscle transformations. I love it for the way it clears my mind and gives me a blank slate for the beginning of a new day. And I love my slower-than-a-snail pace. I could probably go 9 minutes per mile for a few miles, which for me is like a long-distance sprint, if there ever was one. But I much prefer the 11.5-minutes-per-mile pace that can keep me going forever.
Still, other than the addition of these occasional jogs, my lifestyle is very much like what you described, where each and every activity is sandwiched between eating and eating. (Remember when we were sitting in Okada at 2 am? I said "I'm really ridiculously full right now," and then promptly opened a granola bar and started eating it. Oh god. Good times. We should do late-night sometime.)
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