Only when chased: Learning to love the run

When I was younger, people used to ask me, “Do you run?” 

I would answer “Only when chased.”

In middle school, I used to write myself notes to get out of running one lonely mile in gym class. I hated running. I was bad at it. It took me a good 14 minutes to do a mile. I had allergies. I imagined I tasted blood in my lungs at the end of a mile. I had weak ankles. Sweating deflated my big '80s hair. I didn’t like how my face would turn red when I ran, and stay that way for hours.

An athlete I was not, but I had a decent sense of humor, so I wrote funny excuse notes. My eighth-grade gym teacher had to that no actual parent was writing these notes, but I made him laugh every week with my absurd stories: Valerie has contracted a rare lung disease that only flares up on Wednesdays, in response to the threat of running. Please excuse her today.

For whatever reason, the gym teacher let me get away with it, and on Wednesdays, I would not even bother changing into my gym uniform. I would ride in the golf cart with my forty-something gym teacher, and make sarcastic comments about school and my classmates. He would spit coffee while laughing. I would hold the clipboard at the finish line. While he called out times, I would write down the minutes and seconds of my sweaty, panting classmates. I somehow managed to get an A in gym without ever doing anything. 

In high school, I had teachers who actually made me participate in the mile.  I usually walked it, but sometimes I would sprint for a few yards. We stopped having compulsory gym in 10^th grade. I remember achieving my best mile time ever (to that point) that year. It was about 10min 30seconds. Once I caught my breath, I remember going on and on to my gym teacher about how impressed with myself I was. “I knew I could do it,” I remember saying. “I knew if I just didn’t quit, I could do it.” I also remember the look on her face, which was a polite version of “Do what?”

Once forced PE was over, if I linked up all the miles I ran between ages 16 and 30, It probably would have added up to about 10. Combined. I ran once or twice in college. Maybe five or six times between my first two pregnancies. But I really did have allergies. I could only sustain a running program for about two weeks before I got a sinus infection and was out for three weeks. It’s hard to get any better when you keep getting sick.

I was about 32 when I started running fairly regularly. I lived in Warrenton, Virginia, at the time, and we had a trail—the Greenway, which was once a railroad track. In its infinite wisdom, the town had decided they would never need that whole commuter railway thing, so they dug up all the tracks and paved the former railroad bed. It was a smooth, level mile. This was where I spent most of my running time—being lapped by speed walkers and moms with triplets in strollers.

I was 34 when I decided to do my first 5k race. It was sponsored by a high school track team that had done a poor job promoting outside their own community. Only about 100-150 runners showed up, most of whom were still in high school. Although it was in November, the morning turned exceptionally hot, and I was sweltering in overwarm clothing. Instead of the nice, flat out and back railroad bed I was used to, this 5k course around Robinson High School had actual hills. Steep ones. The high schoolers bolted at the start line. Left in their dust, I tried too hard to keep up, which wore me out and forced me to walk more than I wanted to.

I was not exactly the last person to cross the finish line, but I was pretty close. I think the last guy was actually pushing an oxygen tank, and he was right behind me. My finish time was about 49 minutes. If you have ever done a large 5k, you know that 49 minutes is a decent walking time, and there are usually lots of people coming in somewhere around the one-hour mark. But this was not a large run. Pretty much everyone was finished and they were all hanging around, waiting for the stragglers—me. As I labored across the finish line, it seemed like every high school track kid in Fairfax County was lined up to cheer me on. “You can do it!” They shouted. “Almost there!” They said. “Are you ok? Call 9-1-1!”

I admit that a mean little part of me wanted to smack them for being so obviously worried. But there were far more people than I could effectively smack before the police arrived. And I had to admit that my face was an unhealthy color somewhere between heart attack and aneurism.  

Although this was not my favorite 5k race, I am happy to say it was not my last. Luckily, I had a pretty slow time from which I could improve. I still struggled with the same problems: allergies, sinus infections, no really good places to run. But I kept at it. I ran on the treadmill or I did the stair stepper at the gym when I could.

I got a stress fracture in my left foot (my only running-related injury ever). That got better; then I fell down some stairs and sprained both ankles. It took a while before I could even walk, let alone run. But I did. While practicing a dance aerial called the “pancake,” I injured my second toe so badly that it still lists to the right. (For the record, I did have it x-rayed. I am quoting my doctor’s diagnosis directly here: “Eh, I think you’ll be all right.” So I can’t say I broke it or dislocated it, or ripped a tendon. I just don’t know. But if your toe is forever crooked, and every time you tripped for a year and a half, it brought tears to your eyes, you can bet you messed something up pretty good.) That got better and I sprained my ankle again.

Every time I hurt myself, I went through a progression of recovery: first I was in the pool swimming, then I started walking, and finally back to running.

This year, the happiest coincidence of my life changed everything completely. I discovered that I should not be eating wheat. Once I stopped that, my allergies went away completely. Now I can spend time outside without the sinus infections. After about six months, my bones started getting stronger, so I didn’t hurt myself as easily. What a difference this has made in my life—to be able to run outside on a regular basis without getting sick, and to live an active life without spraining, straining, bruising and fracturing my poor little bones!

I recently started using the TRX suspension trainer, which helped even out my left-right muscle imbalances and made my legs stronger for running. We got a treadmill in our basement, so that I can keep running even when it’s windy, cold, snowy or dangerously hot.

Now, at 41, I am routinely running three days a week. For the past few weeks, I have done one five-mile run per week. Two days ago, I managed to run 3 miles in less than 30 minutes for the first time in my life. All this from the woman who used to write herself notes to get out of doing one single mile in gym class. I am actually seriously considering running a half-marathon in May. Me!

Now, much like my high school gym teacher, you may be hearing me say, “I did it, I did it,” and thinking, “Did what?” There are a lot of people who run faster than I do. Although the speedwalkers and the women pushing triplets in jogging strollers don’t pass me up on the trail anymore, other people do. There will always be folks who are faster than me, younger than me, stronger than me. But that’s the thing about running. Even though we’re in the same race, I’m not really competing with them. I’m competing with me. 

I am out there running against 12 year-old me who held the clipboard for my gym teacher because I didn’t want to get my hair messed up.

I am running against 34-year-old me with the tomato red face, surrounded by well-meaning high school track kids who thought I was going to have a coronary on their finish line.

I am running against chunky me, allergy me, and sprained-ankle me, and stress-fracture me. And at the same time I am competing against all these “me”s of the past, I am also at peace with them and able to be proud of them and love them, because they’re the ones who got me here.

I may never win a race—unless if I manage to find the one that is sponsored by the 70 year-old Women with Walkers foundation, and they do a bad job of promoting the event outside their community, so that I am competing against a bunch of septuagenarians with assistive equipment—however, I have seen some of these ladies book it around the mall. I think they could take me.

Coming in first only happens for one person in each race. Even winning your age group is pretty limited. Running, walking, exercise in general, is all about getting better every time. It’s about training your mind to focus on the task at hand, and learning not to give up when you feel a stitch in your side. It’s about understanding when your body needs a break so that you can finish, and when you can push through and do something you never thought you could. It’s about getting stronger—not just in your bones and muscles and lungs and heart, but in your mind, that precious organ that makes everything else possible.

So now do I run? Absolutely. But only when chased--by yesterday's accomplishments and a strong desire to do better today.