Run For Your LIFE!

Growing up, there was a lot of imaginative play with my older sister and our best friends.  Not to get all, "back in my day, sonny" on you, but we didn't play video games.  We didn't have cable, and only watched about an hour of television each week.  We read a lot of books.  We wrote a lot, and self-published our stories in magazines and newspapers which we would then distribute to our parents and their friends.  Most of the time, though, we played outside.  I think I heard the phrase "run for your life" for the first time on Scooby-Doo.  It was also probably used on Gilligan's Island and on The Brady Bunch, although not quite as often.  Quick digression-

Truth.

Anyway, let's get back to the running for our lives thing.  'Run for your life!' is a really fun thing to shout, as is 'You'll never catch me!' and 'You're our only hope!'.  Another quick digression- wouldn't it be cool to really be someone's only hope?  I mean, to possess either the knowledge, strength, or superiority to be the only hope has to feel pretty awesome.  Okay, back again.  I distinctly remember that whether we were playing detectives or stranded islanders or football or Cookie Jar (in which one of us [me, except when I protested really loudly] played the mom of several demanding, whiny children who did nothing but crawl around and ask for cookies- not my favorite game, but definitely the best preparation for real life) or archaeologists or hide-n-seek or Carson Kids (in which we were orphaned, crime fighting, Macguyver-esque children except when we had to get away from our mean foster parents, when we would break all the rules) or A-Team, someone would inevitably shout, "Run for your life!" and we would all take off as fast as our scrawny legs would carry us.  We would run down the sidewalk, as far as we were allowed.  We would run circles around the house.  We would run until my friend's younger brother, who was always the Bad Guy, complained to our moms that we weren't letting him catch us, or until someone got stung by a wasp (okay, that only happened once, but it sticks out in my memory like nothing else).  Running was the most fun part of all our games.  Running was the constant.  Running was survival.

Not pictured: anyone I know.  I realized I was going to have to google 'kid running images' when I looked through my oldest photo album and found pictures of kids in sinks, wearing tutus, playing t-ball, jumping on trampolines, and baking bread, but nobody running, ever.  We must have been too fast for those '80's cameras.

Did you know I'm training to run my first marathon?  (If not, this is probably your first visit to my blog, so let me welcome you!)  I've been thinking a lot lately about why I'm doing this.  See, back when I ran my first half-marathon, there was someone holding a sign that read, "Remember your why."  I had trouble coming up with anyone's why, much less my own, at mile 12 of the 13.1 mile race.  Because of my new brain-training initiative, I decided I should explore my reasons for deciding to run a marathon so's not to be caught off guard, mentally, by the motivational signs on the course.  After a couple of days of trying to come up with good reasons to neglect my family for hours each week while completing training runs, to put almost every inch of my body at risk of injury, to spend a whole bunch of money, to be impressed almost daily by how much sweat it is possible to produce, I was feeling a little stuck and discouraged.  I decided to check out other people's reasons, hoping maybe I could find something inspirational and deep to tell people when they asked why I was running a marathon.  Thank you, google, for always being there for me!

What I found when I typed 'why do people run marathons' was not very encouraging, nor was it very surprising.  There was one article claiming that many of us are not genetically suited for long-distance running, and that no amount of training will make those genetically lacking folks improve.

Lucky for me, I seem to have good genes.  Thanks, Dad!

I also found a blogger who says that only white people like to run marathons, this guy who says it's the challenge which excites our sense of adventure, and a really interesting (maybe only to me) article in which the decisions we make which cause us pain vs. pleasure are explored.  You really should read the whole article, but I'll sum up the parts I found most fascinating:

• Choosing to run a marathon is irrational.  Choosing to have more than one child is also irrational.
• We humans are not oh-so-rational, really.  Nor are we very good at remembering just how painful some experiences are.
• Apparently, it was the Hindus who inspired Westley's words in The Princess Bride, "Life is pain, highness.  Anyone who says otherwise is selling something."
• Life can be measured as a sum of moments, and if the pleasurable moments outnumber the painful moments, we can claim to have lived a good life.  Or...
• Life can't be measured as a sum of moments, and is "good" if we are able to appreciate the painful and pleasurable both as experiences which make us whole.

So, here's what I've concluded.  I'm going to run a marathon because I want to.  I stressed the word 'want' in that sentence to make it look closer to the word 'need', which might be more accurate.  I need to challenge myself, physically, mentally, and emotionally.  I need to know that I can do it.  I mean, I know I can do it.  But saying that at this point, when I haven't actually done it, is not much different from my saying that I know I can pitch a perfect game in Major League Baseball.

It's easy to say you can turn a pilgrim...

...into a zombie, but have you actually done it?

My life is a happy one, no matter how I choose to calculate happiness.  Maybe that's why I'm ready, now, to physically torment myself and put myself through 26.2 miles of pain.  Maybe Maslow had it right, and running a marathon is how I self-actualize.

Run for your VITALITY!  Hmm.  Doesn't have quite the same ring to it, but for me, it seems accurate.  No matter what is going on in my life, running is the constant.  No matter how hot and miserable I feel, physically, and how drained, mentally, running is still fun.  Improving my pace, setting new personal records, testing my limits and surpassing what I ever thought was possible, well, keeps me feeling alive.  Running is survival.

My advice for you was rather subliminal in this post, so I'll add a tip here just in case you stopped by looking for it.  I think you should get caught in some quicksand.  It probably makes more sense for me to be speaking metaphorically, here, like, "seek out some danger and don't be afraid" or whatever, but I mean it literally.  I would love it if someone would call me from quicksand.  I would totally know how to get you out, too.  Just give me 4 other people and a dog, and we'll be all set.

Have you ever been the only hope?  I will also accept stories about being "the only one I can trust" or "the last chance."  

Has anyone ever even seen quicksand?  Really?

Happy Birthday, Mommy of Mine!

At last, the post you've all been waiting for!  The time has come, the time is now, the how-I-started-running story is finally here!  (It just happens to coincide with my mom's 29th birthday.)

Simply put, my sister made me do it.  She's two years older than me, and my earliest memories include her great ideas for what we should do, how we should play, and where we should adventure.  The fact that I can't recall ever not following her lead speaks volumes for the quality of her ideas, as I'm not one to let others think for me or tell me what to do.  And by "others", of course, I mean "other-than-her"s.

She probably told me to make a stupid hand motion behind her.

The longer version of the story is what you're here for, though, right?  If not, then go ahead and skip to the end.*

I didn't realize that my sis had been running until after she raced her first 5k.  (Aside- her first race time still beats my current best race time.  She's really stinking fast.)  I think she, like many new runners, felt a little weird talking about her new found love.  It doesn't make sense when you think about it logically, but I've read about it in articles and heard about it from several people and even noticed that I did the same thing- secret running.  Once I learned about her habit, I, of course, wanted to follow in her footsteps (har har).  Early in the summer of 2010, she took a break from running for a few weeks, and I had the ridiculous thought that I could catch up to her if I started then.  I went out for exactly 2 runs during those 6 weeks.  I wore pajama shorts and undertanks, and sneakers which weighed approximately 3 lbs each.  I went a mile each time, running for about 25 seconds, walking for 5 minutes, and then running for a few seconds more before I lost my breath again and let myself walk.  I got shin splints after both "workouts", which hurt for many days, and were quite discouraging.  Fast forward to late August, when we were both at a baby shower and a mutual friend, Angie, started asking Jenn about running.  Angie lives less than a mile from me, and at the time, my sister lived about 3 miles away.  The three of us decided that we would start meeting to run together early in the mornings, starting the following Monday.  Jenn would drive to Angie's, the two of them would run to my house where I would meet them outside just after 6, and then we'd all jog around the well-lit park across the street from where I live.

The following Monday arrived, and my alarm went off at 5:50, as expected.  I thought to myself, "Hah!  Like I'm going to get out of my cozy bed to go run.  Nobody really expects that of me."  A few hours later, I talked to my thoroughly annoyed sister on the phone.

"Where were you this morning?  I thought you were going to meet me and Angie outside."

"Oh, you thought I was serious about that?  I don't run, remember?"

"Sigh. Not if you stay in bed, you don't.  Jerk.  We're meeting again tomorrow.  You'd better be out there when we get to your house."

"Fine.  But I'm not going to like it."

The next day, I actually got out of bed when my alarm went off.  Brushed my teeth, put on my socks and new, Target brand, slightly-lighter sneakers, and went outside.  (Notice I didn't mention changing into running clothes.  That's because I thought it best to sleep in them, since they were also my pajamas.)  A few moments later, my sister ran up.  I leisurely sauntered down to the end of my driveway while she jogged in place, waiting for me.

"Come on!"

"What, now?  Don't I need to, like, warm up or something?"

"Yes, dummy.  Running will do that."

"Oh.  Where's Angie?"

"At the end of the other street.  She needed to catch her breath."

By the time we got to Angie, 0.1 miles away, I was gasping for air and my thighs were burning.  We decided to skip the park and just "run" back to Angie's house, as that would be plenty of exercise for us two newbies. When we made it there, (0.75 miles in ~14 mins) I had Jenn drive me back to my house.  All the blood circulating in my legs made my thighs red and itchy** and I still felt out of breath when I got out of her car and went inside for a shower.  Over the next few weeks, we got into the habit of running together nearly every morning.  We got to know the dark streets in our neighborhood, figured out that the lights in the park didn't make the surrounding woods less scary, learned to expect the meanest-sounding growl from that one dog who we all pictured to be the size of Godzilla, witnessed a car accident, and gradually, started being able to run longer distances.  I did not stop wearing my pajamas to run, and I did not even consider spending money on running shoes again, after I had just spent over $20 on the pair I was using.

When I read blog posts, I like a lot of pictures.  I think we can all be grateful that nobody took photos at any of those early-morning runs, though, and instead enjoy this picture of my little beauty.

And now, one of my famous (to those who know me well) story tangents.  I'll get back to the running story eventually, I promise.

Husband proposed to me on Christmas day, 2009, and we set 10/10/10 as our wedding date.  In February of '10, we bought a house and spent over a month fixing it up before we moved in.  Once we were settled, the wedding plans began in earnest.  I'm a pretty laid-back individual, and Husband is also easygoing.  We both wanted our wedding to be small and personal, and didn't care much about all the usual trappings of such things.  (Aside- we spent just about $5,000 on our wedding, had around 100 guests, and it was absolutely perfect for us.  Live music, flowers, cake, really truly delicious food, signature beverages, a unique and comfortable venue, a delightful candy buffet... Stay tuned for advice on inexpensive, fabulous events like that one.)  It just so happens that even mild mannered, un-bridezilla-ish women like me can get a little stressy when faced with events like house buying, remodeling, and wedding planning.

You can't tell, but the counters had pink flowers, and the insides of the cabinets were pink, too.

Best $250 ever spent?  Reglazing the tub and fixtures to white.  I cried real tears of joy when the pink was gone.

Between February and August of that year, I visited the doctor 3 separate times for 3 different, debilitating ailments, which all turned out to be caused by stress.  Since then, I've been to the doctor 3 times, and once was for a new employee drug screening.  I was taking ibuprofen 3 times a day, every day, because my back and shoulders hurt so badly from tension.  I was excited about my upcoming nuptials (that always looks like a dirty word to me), but I was not handling things well, really.  I was extra forgetful, snappish, exhausted, and probably not much fun to be around.  Then, one pre-dawn morning, my life changed forever.

(Aaaaannndddd, we're back, just like I promised.)

On September 27th, 2010, I celebrated my one-year cigarette free anniversary with my longest run to date, from my house to my sister's.  I had still been doing a lot of whining and complaining during many of our daily runs, and I still told everyone who would listen that I hated running.  It was hard.  It made me sweaty and stinky.  I gave up sleeping in.  I said the words, "I'm going to die" almost every time we hit the pavement.  But, I kept doing it.  At the time, I believed that I only did it because Jenn and Angie were expecting me to.  Now, I realize that I was already addicted, even though the need to run was still sub-conscious.  I also didn't figure out right away that I wasn't having the same physical manifestations of the stress I was under.  I just stopped taking the ibuprofen, without really wondering what had made the tension leave my back and shoulders.  I gladly started thinking straight and remembering things again, without ever considering saying "thank-you" to my sister and friend for making sure I was running all the time.

Calling oneself 'gorgeous' is probably a bad quality, right?

Every bride should be so lucky to have a Maid of Honor who makes them do a laughbend like my sister did to me.

Running kept me sane during some of the most overwhelming months of my life.  And when things calmed down, and Fiance was finally Husband, I realized that I didn't want to stop running.  The thought of not being able to run anymore, for whatever reason, became a really scary one.  It was while out for a run while honeymooning that I understood that my name wasn't the only thing that had recently changed-- I had changed.

I'm a runner.  Seeing those words on my screen makes me thankful, proud, joyful, and a little choked up.  Being a runner has also brought me into the strongest, best physical shape of my life.  I've learned that I can endure a lot, that I'm able to overcome obstacles, whether they be mental, physical, or actual things like dead animals on the sidewalk.  So, thanks, snissy, for going first and dragging me along with you.

My advice today is to take the advice of those who know you.  Even if it means getting out of your (literal) comfort zone and going outside to wait in the dark to punish your body and whip it into shape.

Easy Question:
From whom do you take advice?

Hard Question:
What has changed you?

 *It's impossible for me to type those words without then reciting in my head the wedding scene in "The Princess Bride." "Skip to the end!" Do you, Buttercup, take... "Man and Wife!  Say Man and Wife!"  Man and Wife...

**Am I the only one who has experienced this?  I've never heard anyone else complain about it.

The Running Dead

*Disclaimer*:  I am totally enthralled by the AMC show "The Walking Dead".  I wasn't really into zombies until I started watching it (there's no zombie life sticker on my car), so when I imagine the zombie apocalypse, it's all in terms of that TV show rather than some horror movies.  "Zombieland" is not a horror movie, per se, and is the other contributor to my imaginings of zombie life.

Let me set the scene for you.  No.  As Inigo Montoya would say, there is too much.  Let me sum up.  Just about everyone on Earth has died, and then come back to "life" with the sole purpose of eating you.  You've managed to survive so far by outrunning and outsmarting the former humans.

No substitutions.

As I was running by my lonesome one day several months ago (a memorable run, as I went 6 miles and had never before run more than 5), I came across the remains of a banana on the sidewalk.  No, I did not cartoonish-ly slip and fall on the peel.  I thought, "I should remember where that is in case of zombies.  If I were starving, I would totally eat it, and I bet there's still vitamins and nutrients in it."  During the remaining miles, I kept myself distracted and entertained by finding more and more things that would be useful I.C.O.Z.  That day, it became a Thing, and now I'm always on the lookout for such items.  The following are some of the useful things I've seen, that could probably be found on most sidewalks or streets.  You might just thank me for this list someday...

Food and Drink:

• A wrapped piece of candy- every carb and calorie would help
• Banana remains
• A full bottle of purified water (okay, so that one I actually dropped out of Baby's stroller when I hit a bump going too fast, but it still counts)
• Barely rotten oranges
• A few ounces of Gatorade 
• Slugs-yeah, actual slugs.  The way I figure, if I had a fire (and I would have to have a fire) I could cook and eat all manner of things.  Slugs would be super easy to catch, and are definitely not poisonous.
• A condom- hear me out- I heard on the radio yesterday that a condom will hold a liter of water.  The other survivors are probably not taking them off the store shelves during their looting sprees, so they could be very useful.  Granted, those that I've seen on the roads are not exactly...fresh, but still!

Weaponry:

• Broken pieces of cinder block
• Real estate signs- the kind that stick in the ground on metal stakes
• The pieces of an old desk, being discarded.  These could also be used for the all-important fire.
• Glass bottles
• Soda cans- once flattened, they're quite sharp
• A CD like this one, found a block away from my house yesterday, already nice and broken with a jagged edge.

Finally, DJ Kndeed's Reggaetown gets the recognition it deserves

Surviving the Elements:

• A dead armadillo- again, hear me out!  What could make a better hat than the hard, bony shell of an armadillo?  Sun protection, rain protection, maybe even zombie-bite protection?  Plus, the smell might confuse the zombies into thinking I was already dead.  
• The good half of a metal pail (who would throw out the bottom of a bucket???)
• Trash cans- I think I could live in one
• A knife- even the rusty butter knife I found would be better than nothing
• A lighter- duh.

Please, don't think that I've given you all my survival tips in this one blog post.  I've many more.  And no, my post-apocalyptic plans don't include being in my neighborhood, living in a trash can, surviving on my running and slug-eating.  But I could do it.  Oh, yes.

Found any useful garbage lately?

What do you think about, while running all alone?