An Acquired Taste
“146 pounds,” the scale read. Dumbfounded, my eyes tore off the scale as if to avoid the truth. AnnMarie stood by my side, sympathy clearly written on her face.
After my first week in Italy it was clear I had experienced a double-digit weight gain. My skinny jeans clung my hips as a boa would cling onto its victim. The pain was nothing close to bone splitting, but the level of discomfort allowed my mind to wander for more suitable analogies.
“That’s it!” I told AnnMarie, my body swelling of determination and literally of mozzarella. Confusion clouded her eyes as she crossed her eyebrows at me with a slight tilt forward of her head, indicating that I should explain further. I took the invitation, “I did not lose thirty pounds just to gain ten my first week in Italy. If there are no gyms I can go to or equipment I can use, I will simply run. That is all I need to do. A thirty-minute run every morning.”
“Uh, Brit,” AnnMarie began, “Won’t that make you tired? We are travelling, you know. We spend all day long walking about and climbing all these steps until nightfall.”
I absorbed her works and shot back, “I will do it.” She gave me a half encouraging smile and returned her attention to the three Sicilians in the room.
Growing up, I despised the first thirty minutes of practice. No matter what sport I played whether it was soccer, volleyball, softball, basketball, and track, running was always required to warm up for practice. My coach would assign us a number of laps to be completed and dismiss us to run. Instead of pacing myself, I would sprint those laps, sweat pouring out of my forehead and sometimes I earned myself a good stomach cramp. Whatever it took to bring me closer to the end of the routine ordeal, I told myself, no matter the price. By the end of our stretching I would still be caught in half of a pant, trying to restore my breath for the remainder of practice.
When Governor Schwarzenegger was elected, he created a series of laws centering around health, one of them banning the sale of soda drinks during school hours and requiring that all schools’ physical education programs implement a mile-long run once a month for all students.
When we were informed at the end of the spring term before the summer break of the upcoming changes in the fall, I thought bitterly to myself, “Just brilliant. Now I have to do it once a month on Fridays and I get to go home a sweaty mess. I would rather do this four times a year!”
For the remainder of my years at the school, I would chat with a friend or two during the required mile run. Sometimes we broke out into song and waved at our more dutiful peers jogging past for the umpteenth time. At the completion of every lap, I made sure to ask the person wielding the stopwatch. The rule had it that if your time surpassed fifteen minutes, you would be required to redo the run the following week. I would not, I repeat, I would not contradict myself and land myself an unnecessary miler. At the fourth and final lap, I often had to sprint my way through the last four hundred meters to shed off precious time. I did not care if I clocked in at 14:59 so long as it was not a second more.
Fast-forward to six years later and a shocking weight gain and there you have it - the irony of it all. I grew from hating running with a passion to loving running with a passion.
During our three-day stay in Florence I would rise two hours prior to AnnMarie. The challenge I learned was donning my running clothes. I knew once they were donned I was committed to my run. Sometimes my eyelids were screaming at me, my stomach hollered at me, and my brain was begging for caffeine. “You are the master of your body,” I would tell myself. Yet, every item of clothing I stripped and donned in exchange were done with an air of grudge. A couple of times, I exaggerated my stretches, attempting to put off the inevitable.
Those who know me know that once I have reached a decision to do something, I refuse to consider any other option. When the clothes were on, my shoes were tied with double knots, and my body was loosened up, it was high time to start transferring those camel steps into the proud trot of a fully bred stallion.
Mind you, the first two months of my running were nothing short of an embarrassment. I would grow lazy and trip over a curb because I would allow myself to droop from a proper jog to something more along the lines of a shuffle. Even at a shuffle, I would eventually tire and resign to a walking pace. There was a time in Florence a man sixty years my senior’s pace brought him past me.
The cars on the road were unnerving to say the least. I made a point not to pay the drivers any particular attention, but I was conscious of the unspoken judgment being passed onto me. A lady shy of her twenty-first birthday with proper health should be able to manage a fifteen minute long jog, but even that was a struggle.
The first month was most difficult. Rising out of bed early to venture outside into public, I repeat, INTO public where I could be seen and into the brisk fifty-degree winds of Sweden or the sweltering sun of Austria were not experiences I embraced.
Whenever I contemplated taking a hiatus, I would only need to shimmy into my pants and allow the pants to judge me. When my confidence mounted, I grabbed the pants and made for the bathroom. A minute later, I trudged out of the bathroom, brewing with disappointment. During those moments, Nike’s slogan would drift into my mind. “Just do it,” and so I did.
I began running in March and it is now pushing August. This morning I rose, broke my fast on a whole grain sandwich layered with greek yogurt, sprinkled with feta cheese and cranberries, while a layer of turkey and dark green lettuce rested atop the stack. On the side I had sliced a whole banana to satisfy my sweet tooth. Not to mention, I had my faithful mug of coffee to wash the meal down. Needless to say, my run this morning was comfortable. I did not out-perform myself, but sometimes I find more pride in maintaining a healthy stride as I weave in and out through various neighborhoods. Today, I had opted to just travel where my two feet chose to carry me as opposed to establishing a destination.
The key to running for me is to always change it up. Some days I choose to run at a college track, others I find joy in running towards a landmark in the city, and days like today I simply ran.
After my first week in Italy it was clear I had experienced a double-digit weight gain. My skinny jeans clung my hips as a boa would cling onto its victim. The pain was nothing close to bone splitting, but the level of discomfort allowed my mind to wander for more suitable analogies.
“That’s it!” I told AnnMarie, my body swelling of determination and literally of mozzarella. Confusion clouded her eyes as she crossed her eyebrows at me with a slight tilt forward of her head, indicating that I should explain further. I took the invitation, “I did not lose thirty pounds just to gain ten my first week in Italy. If there are no gyms I can go to or equipment I can use, I will simply run. That is all I need to do. A thirty-minute run every morning.”
“Uh, Brit,” AnnMarie began, “Won’t that make you tired? We are travelling, you know. We spend all day long walking about and climbing all these steps until nightfall.”
I absorbed her works and shot back, “I will do it.” She gave me a half encouraging smile and returned her attention to the three Sicilians in the room.
Growing up, I despised the first thirty minutes of practice. No matter what sport I played whether it was soccer, volleyball, softball, basketball, and track, running was always required to warm up for practice. My coach would assign us a number of laps to be completed and dismiss us to run. Instead of pacing myself, I would sprint those laps, sweat pouring out of my forehead and sometimes I earned myself a good stomach cramp. Whatever it took to bring me closer to the end of the routine ordeal, I told myself, no matter the price. By the end of our stretching I would still be caught in half of a pant, trying to restore my breath for the remainder of practice.
When Governor Schwarzenegger was elected, he created a series of laws centering around health, one of them banning the sale of soda drinks during school hours and requiring that all schools’ physical education programs implement a mile-long run once a month for all students.
When we were informed at the end of the spring term before the summer break of the upcoming changes in the fall, I thought bitterly to myself, “Just brilliant. Now I have to do it once a month on Fridays and I get to go home a sweaty mess. I would rather do this four times a year!”
For the remainder of my years at the school, I would chat with a friend or two during the required mile run. Sometimes we broke out into song and waved at our more dutiful peers jogging past for the umpteenth time. At the completion of every lap, I made sure to ask the person wielding the stopwatch. The rule had it that if your time surpassed fifteen minutes, you would be required to redo the run the following week. I would not, I repeat, I would not contradict myself and land myself an unnecessary miler. At the fourth and final lap, I often had to sprint my way through the last four hundred meters to shed off precious time. I did not care if I clocked in at 14:59 so long as it was not a second more.
Fast-forward to six years later and a shocking weight gain and there you have it - the irony of it all. I grew from hating running with a passion to loving running with a passion.
During our three-day stay in Florence I would rise two hours prior to AnnMarie. The challenge I learned was donning my running clothes. I knew once they were donned I was committed to my run. Sometimes my eyelids were screaming at me, my stomach hollered at me, and my brain was begging for caffeine. “You are the master of your body,” I would tell myself. Yet, every item of clothing I stripped and donned in exchange were done with an air of grudge. A couple of times, I exaggerated my stretches, attempting to put off the inevitable.
Those who know me know that once I have reached a decision to do something, I refuse to consider any other option. When the clothes were on, my shoes were tied with double knots, and my body was loosened up, it was high time to start transferring those camel steps into the proud trot of a fully bred stallion.
Mind you, the first two months of my running were nothing short of an embarrassment. I would grow lazy and trip over a curb because I would allow myself to droop from a proper jog to something more along the lines of a shuffle. Even at a shuffle, I would eventually tire and resign to a walking pace. There was a time in Florence a man sixty years my senior’s pace brought him past me.
The cars on the road were unnerving to say the least. I made a point not to pay the drivers any particular attention, but I was conscious of the unspoken judgment being passed onto me. A lady shy of her twenty-first birthday with proper health should be able to manage a fifteen minute long jog, but even that was a struggle.
The first month was most difficult. Rising out of bed early to venture outside into public, I repeat, INTO public where I could be seen and into the brisk fifty-degree winds of Sweden or the sweltering sun of Austria were not experiences I embraced.
Whenever I contemplated taking a hiatus, I would only need to shimmy into my pants and allow the pants to judge me. When my confidence mounted, I grabbed the pants and made for the bathroom. A minute later, I trudged out of the bathroom, brewing with disappointment. During those moments, Nike’s slogan would drift into my mind. “Just do it,” and so I did.
I began running in March and it is now pushing August. This morning I rose, broke my fast on a whole grain sandwich layered with greek yogurt, sprinkled with feta cheese and cranberries, while a layer of turkey and dark green lettuce rested atop the stack. On the side I had sliced a whole banana to satisfy my sweet tooth. Not to mention, I had my faithful mug of coffee to wash the meal down. Needless to say, my run this morning was comfortable. I did not out-perform myself, but sometimes I find more pride in maintaining a healthy stride as I weave in and out through various neighborhoods. Today, I had opted to just travel where my two feet chose to carry me as opposed to establishing a destination.
The key to running for me is to always change it up. Some days I choose to run at a college track, others I find joy in running towards a landmark in the city, and days like today I simply ran.