Running: The journey begins
A few weeks ago I began my foray into the world of running. It was a jolting entrance. My knees felt watery. My arms were inordinately sore; their supposed role in the task of propelling my body forward felt minuscule, and completely out of proportion with the discomfort I experienced afterward. The tautness in my calves and the front of my thighs (my "quads", the interwebs later taught me) recalled a violin string on the verge of snapping. Above all, at every footfall, the incessant mantra that flowed through my mind -- "When will this be over? When will this be over?" -- threatened to overwhelm my physical efforts.
The first time I ever tried to run a mile in Florida, I failed. The chatter in my mind won: "I could just stop." So I did. It was also 85 degrees Fahrenheit out in the sun, 29 degrees Celsius.
I chose, for my route, one of the many half-mile isles that run parallel to the Atlantic coastline. These isles exist in between North-South channels of water that are extensions of the Intracoastal Waterway in Fort Lauderdale. In all, there are seven isles, spanning about three-quarters of a mile in the East-West direction on Las Olas Boulevard. This particular isle, a half-mile long in the North-South direction, comprised one street. Large, beautiful million-dollar properties lined the street, each house with a waterfront backyard. Landscaping is clearly taken very seriously in the Seven Isles. Palm trees; giant trees with no names (because I am not horticulturalist) thriving in the Floridian humidity; ferns; ivies; gigantic, spiky, Jurassic-looking plants that easily dwarf me. These are regular features of any given front yard worth its salt. Despite all those leaves, however, shade is a rare commodity at high noon.
So, sweltering, short of breath, and feeling like a sad, sticky spot of melted ice cream on the pavement that's been run over by a pickup truck, I stopped after about three-quarters of a mile. I was wearing pretty much as little as possible: short running shorts, tank top, no-show socks, and even a baseball cap in a vain attempt to ward off the sun. Given my disastrous experience, how the hell did people do this running thing?!
I should explain that I've had a mercurial relationship with treadmills. During my second year of working in public accounting, I took it upon myself to sign up for a GoodLife membership in Ottawa. I should work on my strength and fitness since I wasn't getting any older, I had heard the stories about women's metabolism slowing anywhere from age 18 to 25 (I was hazy on the medical specifics), and at the very least it would be a good change of pace from sitting in front of a laptop and working 13 hours a day. I had heretofore eschewed the gym. I was not an athletic child, to put it mildly, but genetics were on my side, so although at age 22 I was slightly chubbier than I would have liked to be, I was firmly in the middle of my BMI range.
I did the pre-set weight machine circuit at Goodlife; I got stronger and bulkier. I started running on the treadmill; I would hit my stride at about six minutes, and felt invincible when this heady, meditative feeling came over me. The delicate button-sleeves on my short sleeved, fitted button-up shirts for work felt tighter. I actually gained several pounds of weight. From the muscle, I told myself.
A year-and-a-half later, as I was entering the vortex of a very bad breakup, I took the weight training out of my routine and started beating up the treadmill. I became addicted to running 5K's, which would take me about 37-40 minutes. I felt pretty good about this, even though my time was nothing to write home about. I was going to win this breakup by getting fit and healthy. I never once hopped off the treadmill, never changed the incline past zero. After I felt like I had "won" the breakup, my mission was accomplished. I lost touch with the gym for a while.
Skipping some significant life events, I now fast-forward to life in Florida. My first attempted mile here had soundly defeated me. I had started a new job, and one of the guys in my group was one of those Weight Watchers "After" stories. He had lost 80 pounds on the program, and would talk about health and being active at the drop of a hat. Not in that fanatical, inaccessible manner of fitness gurus that just serves to alienate the common plebians who do not, in fact, own giant tubs of protein powder to put in their health smoothies. My coworker's gospel was more common-sense: work hard at your diet and exercise, maintain control, but don't deprive yourself. We got to talking about running, and I mentioned that it would be interesting to run a 5K.
When I spoke the words, I didn't really believe I was going to run a 5K. I had tried road running a couple times during the course of my life back in Canada, and even without the heat, had found the impact of the pavement to be too jolting; my muscles did not respond well; I felt that I was inherently weak, with underdeveloped lungs, due to my sedentary childhood. While I was able to run 5K on a treadmill, I had empirically observed that the forgiving springiness of the treadmill's running surface, the zero incline to which I was accustomed, and the climate controlled gym environment basically made Treadmill Running an entirely different activity than Road Running. Apples to oranges; beer to wine; training wheels to a unicycle. Nevertheless, we verbally gave half-commitments that we would both train and try for a 5K in September.
After that, work got busy, and I was wiser about selecting the time of day to execute my runs. I started running at night. My wonderful boyfriend, Zachary, helped me map out a route that spanned 3.1 miles -- 5 kilometers -- in total, with easily identifiable 1-mile markers along the way. The first time I tried this route, I still failed to make it to the first 1-mile marker.
The first 1-mile marker is the guardhouse at the last isle. As I ran, I fixed this mental image in my mind. It's a pleasant walk, that one mile from our apartment in Victoria Park to the last isle. The route is a gorgeous stretch of Las Olas Boulevard, wide, median divided, and palm lined, with the water of the seven isles stretching out on both sides of the road. Boats ranging from big yacht to megayacht rest in the water. I couldn't ask for nicer scenery. Still, what I underestimated was the psychological side of running.
It is extremely difficult for me to banish that incessant mantra I mentioned earlier -- "When will this be over? When will this be over?" -- from my mind. Apparently, when left to my own devices, I have trouble rising above physical discomfort. I tried to distract myself by thinking about home, my career, volunteering, kittens, the beach, anything. Nothing. Maslow's hierarchy of needs triumphs again! I was so unfulfilled on that lower, physical level, that I just couldn't tear myself away from the obsessiveness of the animal. I knew, intellectually, that the guard house was a mile away. And yet understanding was not converting into acceptance.
My online research led me to conclude that, when training for a longer run, one must start by building up shorter runs. The example regimen I found online contained one rest day each week, and one day of cross-training, so it would have me running five days a week. Made sense. Sounded reasonable. But I couldn't execute. For every day that I went without running, I would beat myself up mentally. The guilt of not running every day, when I clearly still had miles of training to go -- pun intended -- was making me hide from the activity of running even more.
One day, my coworker and I were discussing our training progress, and he mentioned very matter-of-factly that he hadn't been running in about four days, so he would probably go that night. No guilt, no comments about how he had slipped or been bad. From this, I realised that not everyone undergoing runners' training needs to run every day.
Once I let that pressure slide off my shoulders, I started running whenever I damn well felt like it. As a result, I have slowly started improving my ability to read my body's signals in order to be able to distinguish those times that I damn well feel like it. It's not like a craving for ice cream, where you unequivocally know that yes/no, I do/do not want ice cream. The desire to run is a function of physical and mental preparedness and well-being, and fights a valiant, never-ending battle against laziness. How well I ate that day, and in the preceding days; how well-rested I feel; how well-rested and alert I actually am; how recuperated my muscles feel; these are all factors that play into whether or not I will go for a run. So far, I have found that once very three to five days suits me.
Not long after that, I ran my first mile. Then I ran it again a few more times over the next two or three weeks. After my warm-up stretches and walk, I was bolting out of the gate, so to speak. I ran a mile in 8 minutes. I felt like losing my lunch at the end of that mile, and my breakfast. The next time, I ran a mile in 8 minutes, 30 seconds. Then I ran a mile in 9 minutes. I ran it again in 9 minutes. I felt proud of my speed, but frustrated at my endurance. I didn't feel that I was capable of slowing down, and as a result, I was spent by the end of that mile.
I took a rest, and started mentally preparing myself to push that one-mile plateau. I have started to see that, at this point in progress, the physical improvements will always come; they are an inevitable part of keeping up with training. If you can run that mile repetitively, you will feel far more comfortable the fifth time around than you did the first time you ran it. Your legs will be stronger, your breathing easier. (Though you'll still sweat just as much, because it is now Florida summer, and it's 80 degrees at night in 70% humidity.) The process of lasting that mile, though, is almost entirely mental endurance.
Three runs ago, I ran a mile and a half. I made it past the guard house, to the cul-de-sac at the end of the last isle. I was elated! My head pounded on the walk back home, and I felt slightly nauseous, but with my improving sense of body-awareness, I forced myself to keep breathing normally, and these side effects passed.
Two runs ago, I set out intending on running the mile-and-a-half again. That was the day that my BlackBery armband arrived. Before that, I had been running with my Sansa Clip, which was barely loaded with music, and had a menu that made jumping between the timer and playlist a several-step process. With my new armband, I strapped on my BlackBerry, launched Pandora and Runtastic, and started my run. Something about that night just worked, and as I approached the end of the last isle, I didn't feel like my I was done with running. I kept going for another half a mile. My average time was 10 minutes, 15 seconds a mile for those two miles.
The last time I ran, I went 2.1 miles, and averaged 10 minutes, 30 seconds a mile. I got up at 6:30 on Saturday morning for that run, thinking to beat the sun and humidity. I didn't feel I could stomach any food, so brushed my teeth, washed my face, drank half a cup of water, did my warm-up stretches, and left the apartment. I had always felt that I was physically weak in the morning, and I did add several seconds to my mile, but after my last run, I know I am now capable of incorporating morning runs into my training.
Some equipment upgrades have really changed my training, too. I love being able to use Runtastic to log my runs, and to check the time on my 0.5-mile splits. I have invested in a few additional pairs of running shorts, and my first running tanks. I usually throw on any old tank, as long as the material is thin. As a reward for sticking to this running thing, I allowed myself to splurge on sweat-wicking fabrics for my clothing.
The 5K is in September, and the cause is Firefighers' Fund. I haven't officially signed up yet, but in a couple more weeks, I think I will.
The first time I ever tried to run a mile in Florida, I failed. The chatter in my mind won: "I could just stop." So I did. It was also 85 degrees Fahrenheit out in the sun, 29 degrees Celsius.
I chose, for my route, one of the many half-mile isles that run parallel to the Atlantic coastline. These isles exist in between North-South channels of water that are extensions of the Intracoastal Waterway in Fort Lauderdale. In all, there are seven isles, spanning about three-quarters of a mile in the East-West direction on Las Olas Boulevard. This particular isle, a half-mile long in the North-South direction, comprised one street. Large, beautiful million-dollar properties lined the street, each house with a waterfront backyard. Landscaping is clearly taken very seriously in the Seven Isles. Palm trees; giant trees with no names (because I am not horticulturalist) thriving in the Floridian humidity; ferns; ivies; gigantic, spiky, Jurassic-looking plants that easily dwarf me. These are regular features of any given front yard worth its salt. Despite all those leaves, however, shade is a rare commodity at high noon.
So, sweltering, short of breath, and feeling like a sad, sticky spot of melted ice cream on the pavement that's been run over by a pickup truck, I stopped after about three-quarters of a mile. I was wearing pretty much as little as possible: short running shorts, tank top, no-show socks, and even a baseball cap in a vain attempt to ward off the sun. Given my disastrous experience, how the hell did people do this running thing?!
I should explain that I've had a mercurial relationship with treadmills. During my second year of working in public accounting, I took it upon myself to sign up for a GoodLife membership in Ottawa. I should work on my strength and fitness since I wasn't getting any older, I had heard the stories about women's metabolism slowing anywhere from age 18 to 25 (I was hazy on the medical specifics), and at the very least it would be a good change of pace from sitting in front of a laptop and working 13 hours a day. I had heretofore eschewed the gym. I was not an athletic child, to put it mildly, but genetics were on my side, so although at age 22 I was slightly chubbier than I would have liked to be, I was firmly in the middle of my BMI range.
I did the pre-set weight machine circuit at Goodlife; I got stronger and bulkier. I started running on the treadmill; I would hit my stride at about six minutes, and felt invincible when this heady, meditative feeling came over me. The delicate button-sleeves on my short sleeved, fitted button-up shirts for work felt tighter. I actually gained several pounds of weight. From the muscle, I told myself.
A year-and-a-half later, as I was entering the vortex of a very bad breakup, I took the weight training out of my routine and started beating up the treadmill. I became addicted to running 5K's, which would take me about 37-40 minutes. I felt pretty good about this, even though my time was nothing to write home about. I was going to win this breakup by getting fit and healthy. I never once hopped off the treadmill, never changed the incline past zero. After I felt like I had "won" the breakup, my mission was accomplished. I lost touch with the gym for a while.
Skipping some significant life events, I now fast-forward to life in Florida. My first attempted mile here had soundly defeated me. I had started a new job, and one of the guys in my group was one of those Weight Watchers "After" stories. He had lost 80 pounds on the program, and would talk about health and being active at the drop of a hat. Not in that fanatical, inaccessible manner of fitness gurus that just serves to alienate the common plebians who do not, in fact, own giant tubs of protein powder to put in their health smoothies. My coworker's gospel was more common-sense: work hard at your diet and exercise, maintain control, but don't deprive yourself. We got to talking about running, and I mentioned that it would be interesting to run a 5K.
When I spoke the words, I didn't really believe I was going to run a 5K. I had tried road running a couple times during the course of my life back in Canada, and even without the heat, had found the impact of the pavement to be too jolting; my muscles did not respond well; I felt that I was inherently weak, with underdeveloped lungs, due to my sedentary childhood. While I was able to run 5K on a treadmill, I had empirically observed that the forgiving springiness of the treadmill's running surface, the zero incline to which I was accustomed, and the climate controlled gym environment basically made Treadmill Running an entirely different activity than Road Running. Apples to oranges; beer to wine; training wheels to a unicycle. Nevertheless, we verbally gave half-commitments that we would both train and try for a 5K in September.
After that, work got busy, and I was wiser about selecting the time of day to execute my runs. I started running at night. My wonderful boyfriend, Zachary, helped me map out a route that spanned 3.1 miles -- 5 kilometers -- in total, with easily identifiable 1-mile markers along the way. The first time I tried this route, I still failed to make it to the first 1-mile marker.
The first 1-mile marker is the guardhouse at the last isle. As I ran, I fixed this mental image in my mind. It's a pleasant walk, that one mile from our apartment in Victoria Park to the last isle. The route is a gorgeous stretch of Las Olas Boulevard, wide, median divided, and palm lined, with the water of the seven isles stretching out on both sides of the road. Boats ranging from big yacht to megayacht rest in the water. I couldn't ask for nicer scenery. Still, what I underestimated was the psychological side of running.
It is extremely difficult for me to banish that incessant mantra I mentioned earlier -- "When will this be over? When will this be over?" -- from my mind. Apparently, when left to my own devices, I have trouble rising above physical discomfort. I tried to distract myself by thinking about home, my career, volunteering, kittens, the beach, anything. Nothing. Maslow's hierarchy of needs triumphs again! I was so unfulfilled on that lower, physical level, that I just couldn't tear myself away from the obsessiveness of the animal. I knew, intellectually, that the guard house was a mile away. And yet understanding was not converting into acceptance.
My online research led me to conclude that, when training for a longer run, one must start by building up shorter runs. The example regimen I found online contained one rest day each week, and one day of cross-training, so it would have me running five days a week. Made sense. Sounded reasonable. But I couldn't execute. For every day that I went without running, I would beat myself up mentally. The guilt of not running every day, when I clearly still had miles of training to go -- pun intended -- was making me hide from the activity of running even more.
One day, my coworker and I were discussing our training progress, and he mentioned very matter-of-factly that he hadn't been running in about four days, so he would probably go that night. No guilt, no comments about how he had slipped or been bad. From this, I realised that not everyone undergoing runners' training needs to run every day.
Once I let that pressure slide off my shoulders, I started running whenever I damn well felt like it. As a result, I have slowly started improving my ability to read my body's signals in order to be able to distinguish those times that I damn well feel like it. It's not like a craving for ice cream, where you unequivocally know that yes/no, I do/do not want ice cream. The desire to run is a function of physical and mental preparedness and well-being, and fights a valiant, never-ending battle against laziness. How well I ate that day, and in the preceding days; how well-rested I feel; how well-rested and alert I actually am; how recuperated my muscles feel; these are all factors that play into whether or not I will go for a run. So far, I have found that once very three to five days suits me.
Not long after that, I ran my first mile. Then I ran it again a few more times over the next two or three weeks. After my warm-up stretches and walk, I was bolting out of the gate, so to speak. I ran a mile in 8 minutes. I felt like losing my lunch at the end of that mile, and my breakfast. The next time, I ran a mile in 8 minutes, 30 seconds. Then I ran a mile in 9 minutes. I ran it again in 9 minutes. I felt proud of my speed, but frustrated at my endurance. I didn't feel that I was capable of slowing down, and as a result, I was spent by the end of that mile.
I took a rest, and started mentally preparing myself to push that one-mile plateau. I have started to see that, at this point in progress, the physical improvements will always come; they are an inevitable part of keeping up with training. If you can run that mile repetitively, you will feel far more comfortable the fifth time around than you did the first time you ran it. Your legs will be stronger, your breathing easier. (Though you'll still sweat just as much, because it is now Florida summer, and it's 80 degrees at night in 70% humidity.) The process of lasting that mile, though, is almost entirely mental endurance.
Three runs ago, I ran a mile and a half. I made it past the guard house, to the cul-de-sac at the end of the last isle. I was elated! My head pounded on the walk back home, and I felt slightly nauseous, but with my improving sense of body-awareness, I forced myself to keep breathing normally, and these side effects passed.
Two runs ago, I set out intending on running the mile-and-a-half again. That was the day that my BlackBery armband arrived. Before that, I had been running with my Sansa Clip, which was barely loaded with music, and had a menu that made jumping between the timer and playlist a several-step process. With my new armband, I strapped on my BlackBerry, launched Pandora and Runtastic, and started my run. Something about that night just worked, and as I approached the end of the last isle, I didn't feel like my I was done with running. I kept going for another half a mile. My average time was 10 minutes, 15 seconds a mile for those two miles.
The last time I ran, I went 2.1 miles, and averaged 10 minutes, 30 seconds a mile. I got up at 6:30 on Saturday morning for that run, thinking to beat the sun and humidity. I didn't feel I could stomach any food, so brushed my teeth, washed my face, drank half a cup of water, did my warm-up stretches, and left the apartment. I had always felt that I was physically weak in the morning, and I did add several seconds to my mile, but after my last run, I know I am now capable of incorporating morning runs into my training.
Some equipment upgrades have really changed my training, too. I love being able to use Runtastic to log my runs, and to check the time on my 0.5-mile splits. I have invested in a few additional pairs of running shorts, and my first running tanks. I usually throw on any old tank, as long as the material is thin. As a reward for sticking to this running thing, I allowed myself to splurge on sweat-wicking fabrics for my clothing.
The 5K is in September, and the cause is Firefighers' Fund. I haven't officially signed up yet, but in a couple more weeks, I think I will.