Friday the 15th was THE single best run I have (to this date) ever had. I felt great from the very beginning of the run to the very end of it. This is a bold statement for a few reasons:
#1 Towards the end of my run, I realized that I had endured a limp-your-way-home ankle blister from my new running sneakers. Luckily, I was on such a high by the time I realized it that I limped up my driveway with a huge smile on my face.
#2 This was the first run in the C25K app that involved me running for 3 minutes straight. Saying I was terrified and doubtful of my ability to complete this is an understatement.
Maybe it was the previous day’s rest or maybe I really am starting to progress, but I felt like the whole run - including the first 10 minutes - was done with ease. Even after the first running session, I was able to calmly control my breathing and get back into regulated breathing quickly. My legs didn’t feel like 18 ton cement blocks and there was no foot pain (well, side from the bleeding blister at the end). I could feel myself wanting to haul it when the app chimed indicating it was time to run, but I remembered to pace myself and I continued to try and focus on my landing and breathing. Oh, along with the first running blister, I also endured my first chafing incident (from running).
I can admit that I will never be someone who understands what life is like with a thigh gap. I cannot recall a time in my life where I ever had a gap and no matter how much weight I lose or how much the shape of my body changes, I will always have thighs that touch together. This is not some sort of drag myself down/body shaming moment either. It’s a fact; one that I have accepted, embraced and moved forward with. Because of this fact, I am all too familiar with the moment when the material of a pant rips right at the seam stitched into the inner thigh area. Jeans, leggings, linen pants, cotton shorts - you name it, I have ripped it. Having not realized that I was wearing an older pair of leggings that I normally wouldn’t grab for a run, I slid them over my legs and headed out…only to return home with the weak seam sliced open and a red patch of chafed skin peaking through.
Even with the bleeding ankle, my chafed thigh, and an all-too humid morning - I still had my best run yet. I paced so well that my fastest pace on my FitBit showed a 7 minute mile!!! Don’t worry though - my average is still just shy of 12 minutes per mile so I will not be competing in the Olympics anytime soon.
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On the high of Friday’s run, I was pumped to get outside for an evening tour around the neighborhood tonight. I waited until the sun went down because Mother Nature has tested us with some intense hot/humid weather this weekend. I bandaged up my ankle, grabbed the most fitted pair of leggings I own, and headed out for what I as sure would be another fabulous run.
Turns out, it was a roller coaster.
My ankle hurt quite a bit and the remaining humidity in the air seemed to suck all the good vibes out of me. With this being said, I did push through and again, felt really good about being able to regulate my breathing throughout the run. The run was going pretty well when then, about a quarter of the way through it, I saw him… another runner.
Though I live in middle America suburbia, I rarely see people out for a run. Maybe once in a while, but for the most part, people seem to hold my pre-running mentality of Netflix over activity. Sure we are in the midst of a pandemic, but there are usually plenty of people out for a walk with their dog/kids or even some outside on their lawns playing in the grass. No one is ever for a run.
When I saw him turn the corner near an entrance to the development, I panicked. My head was immediately flushed with what ifs. What if he judged me. What if he thought I was slow. What if he went home and told his family how he saw this non-runnner stumbling her way through the neighborhood. What if when he looked up and saw me running next to him he started laughing so hard that he fell over right in the middle of the street, tears of humor streaming down his face? You may think that all sounds dramatic, but it wasn’t until he looked up, tossed me that runner-to-runner wave and kept trotting by that I realized just how far my brain had gone. His small flick of the wrist to acknowledge running by me, another runner, was all I needed. Adrenaline surged through my veins and made me feel proud. Another runner - someone who looked like a real runner - saw me running and gave me the runner’s wave. I am here. I am a runner.
The feeling that was now coursing through my body made me want to sprint my way around the remainder of the trail. I was sure that this accomplished feeling would push me from where I was, through the next 1.5 miles home. Instead, I continued to pace myself with the app so as to not try too much too soon.
As grateful as I am for the walking periods that the early weeks within the app offer, I can’t help but feel shame for needing them. I want to be able to run the entire 30 minutes straight. I also want to be able to lose weight on a diet of cookies and ice cream, but clearly life is not about getting what you want. The walking sessions give me a moment to catch my breath and store my energy for the next run. They also slow me down. This was never more true than when - less than a mile from our first encounter - I saw him again. The fit runner who acknowledged my activity just a short while ago, was already around the loop of the development and heading my direction. My mind raced. I begged and pleaded with the Universe to make him turn up a street, to make him start walking too, to make me disappear altogether. Humiliated at my slow pace, I picked up my feet without the app telling me to and started running. I’ll be damned if a real runner is going to pass me for the second time and see me slacking off. As we passed each other again, I double checked his back to see if there was a jetpack. There wasn’t, but I was sure he was using some flying device to get around the neighborhood so quickly.
Even though I was running when we passed, I couldn’t shake the negative energy that my embarrassment filled my body with. My head was full of shame and hate for myself and my body. Who was I to even think that I could claim to be a runner? What I should be confidently claiming is that I am an unfit slowpoke. Now that is something we can all agree on, right?
With half a mile left, I decided to refocus and up the ante. Using the negative vibes coursing through my entire being as fuel, I decided I was going to ignore the app and run the rest of the way home. Ankle pain, chafed thigh, labored breathing and shame were not going to hold me back. I decided to push myself not just physically, but mentally. The whole way home I mentally screamed at myself. Running fast doesn’t make you a runner. Running does. I was out here trying, which is more than what I can say about myself a few months ago. I also practiced gratitude - something that I have read a lot about and something that has helped me push through the last few minutes of a run many times before. I thought about all of the things I have in my life to be grateful for. I thought about how lucky I was to be able to stand up, put on sneakers, and go out for a run. I considered all of the people in the world, including people I know personally, who do not have this opportunity. I reflected on Ahmaud Arbery and how so many people of color do not get to do something as simple as running without the threat of losing their life. I even for a brief moment, thought about how proud I was of myself and the progress I have made over the past few months.
Before I knew it, I was turning up my driveway.
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