I am a runner.
I am a runner.
I feel confident in claiming this identity not because I have the hard-earned t-shirts in my bottom drawer - one from a two-mile fun run, one from a 5K - nor because I have my eye on my next 5K (It's called Run With Wolfes, you guys), nor because I own actualfax running shoes and love them quite irrationally. I'm sure I can call myself a runner because I got out of bed on the Sunday of
vividcon, got out of bed and ate a Clif bar and then went down to the fitness center and ran for fifty-two minutes on a treadmill.
On VividCon Sunday, you guys.
I've been noticing, lately, that I don't resist running--that I in fact resist having my running schedule disrupted. In July, while off in the wilds of West Michigan for a few days with my family, I got up and went out and ran on the dirt roads around the camp. Twice! I developed a standard route!
resonant's post about yoga made me think of this, partly because it echoes a lot of the ways I feel about running--mostly the wish that someone would have told me a lot sooner that I could do this, if I just went slowly and was patient with the process of getting stronger.
Part of it is different, though. I am a runner, but I'm still not at all sure that I actually like running. It's sort of, you know, boring. And repetitive. And physically unpleasant. I spent most of today's run staring at my watch, telling myself I could drop to a walk in just another minute if I really had to. I occasionally have moments of feeling like I've hit my stride, like everything has fallen into place and running is, for a stretch, easy. But I've rarely, if ever, experienced a runner's high. It's not really fun, although I keep hoping that it someday will be, when I'm stronger and faster and better.
But I'm a runner anyway: because neither of my parents made it to their sixty-second birthday without coronary bypass surgery; because it's good to do just one thing for an hour three times a week; because I have a perverse love for those post-run muscle twitches in my quads, like a car pinging as it cools; because I get to listen to podcasts and audio books. Because I want to keep getting better at it. Because I can.
This entry was originally posted at http://dira.dreamwidth.org/667127.html. There are currently
comments there.
I feel confident in claiming this identity not because I have the hard-earned t-shirts in my bottom drawer - one from a two-mile fun run, one from a 5K - nor because I have my eye on my next 5K (It's called Run With Wolfes, you guys), nor because I own actualfax running shoes and love them quite irrationally. I'm sure I can call myself a runner because I got out of bed on the Sunday of
vividcon, got out of bed and ate a Clif bar and then went down to the fitness center and ran for fifty-two minutes on a treadmill.
On VividCon Sunday, you guys.
I've been noticing, lately, that I don't resist running--that I in fact resist having my running schedule disrupted. In July, while off in the wilds of West Michigan for a few days with my family, I got up and went out and ran on the dirt roads around the camp. Twice! I developed a standard route!
resonant's post about yoga made me think of this, partly because it echoes a lot of the ways I feel about running--mostly the wish that someone would have told me a lot sooner that I could do this, if I just went slowly and was patient with the process of getting stronger.
Part of it is different, though. I am a runner, but I'm still not at all sure that I actually like running. It's sort of, you know, boring. And repetitive. And physically unpleasant. I spent most of today's run staring at my watch, telling myself I could drop to a walk in just another minute if I really had to. I occasionally have moments of feeling like I've hit my stride, like everything has fallen into place and running is, for a stretch, easy. But I've rarely, if ever, experienced a runner's high. It's not really fun, although I keep hoping that it someday will be, when I'm stronger and faster and better.
But I'm a runner anyway: because neither of my parents made it to their sixty-second birthday without coronary bypass surgery; because it's good to do just one thing for an hour three times a week; because I have a perverse love for those post-run muscle twitches in my quads, like a car pinging as it cools; because I get to listen to podcasts and audio books. Because I want to keep getting better at it. Because I can.
This entry was originally posted at http://dira.dreamwidth.org/667127.html. There are currently
comments there.