One of the coolest things about racing is seeing all the different types of runners. With the exception of elite runners, there doesn't seem to be a body type that all runners possess, and I like that. Running doesn't discriminate, because whether you're fast or slow, you're still doing better than if you weren't running at all. 

I remember my first ever 5K in the summer of 2009. I was talked into it at the last minute by my dear friend Janet (J). It was called the Friendship 5K. It was fate, she said, so we had to do it. I'd only been running about a month, and was fairly nervous by the time we arrived for the evening race. 

When we got there, runners were all over. Some were running to warm up (a trend I've never believed in), some were stretching, some were eating, some were sitting, most were standing. I remember looking around and feeling totally intimidated. How many races had these people run? They had to be more experienced than I was. 

I remember one runner in particular. She looked like a barbie doll -- long blond hair pulled into a high ponytail, matching Nike moisture wicking tank top and running tight capri pants. She had on swanky shoes and walked around like she owned the place. "Holy crap," I thought, "what am I doing here?" I was wearing a pair of shorts I often sleep in and a tank top that came out of my "junk" exercise clothes drawer (the things I don't wear to Jazzercise in). 

When the race started, I just started running. I quickly lost the group of ladies I'd come with. I'd also, stupidly, forgotten my iPod, so I had a lot of time to listen to feet pounding the pavement and my own breath going in and out far too quickly since my music usually drowned it out. I wasn't paying attention to much except trying to follow the course, so I really wasn't noticing when I got passed, or, on a rare occasion, when I passed people. I did, however, notice when children with legs half my length went flying past, but that's another blog. 

After I finished and was trying to locate the rest of my group, I finally started to look at the people around me. Tall, short, young, old, skinny, graceful, powerful, muscular, injured... it didn't matter. We were all there for the same reason. We were all there to run. 

And that's the beauty of running... there's not one type of runner. Running is a sport that'll take anyone who chooses to try it out. Running accepts everyone. There's no one to compete with except yourself. And I love that. 

Oh, and the super fit runner in the perfect running outfit? I finished a solid four minutes before she did. Not that it's a competition... 

The dreadmill

As I left work today, preparing for my run, it was raining. Not just a light little rain, but a fairly constant rain. So, in my infinite wisdom (okay, that's a lie, I just didn't want to short out my iPod), I decided to go to Ladies Fitness Zone to run on the treadmill. 

Now, I prefer to call this instrument of torture, the dreadmill. 

I have never liked treadmills. Maybe this has something to do with the fact that I should never be on a surface that moves at a high rate of speed and could easily toss me off it at the stub of a toe. Or, maybe it's the fact that I don't run at a consistent pace and I'm constantly forced to speed up or slow down when I don't really want or need to. Or, maybe it's the fact that I cannot STAND being in the same place while moving. Literally. Can't. Stand. It. 

So, off I went to the gym and the dreadmill. I had to run 50 minutes tonight. Well, I had to Run/Walk 50 minutes. And boy, did I take advantage of that walk part of it. 

I don't know what it is. I LOVE running outside. I like running on tracks. I hate the dreadmill with serious, serious passion. 

A mile in, I stopped to walk for a minute. Stupid dreadmill. Why does it feel like I've run so much farther on there? I decided to do some speed work instead just to vary the up the horribleness of the run. So, I'd run hard for five, jog for five, walk for one, run hard for four, jog for four, walk for one... you see the pattern. 

It felt like the longest 50 minutes of my life. 

Why, why, why does time slow down when you're on the dreadmill? Seriously, is there a reason why the minutes feel so much longer on there? At one point, I honestly thought, "Thank goodness there are only 60 seconds in a minute and not 100, because I could not possibly run 40 more seconds." 

Long story short, I survived, obviously, but not without some serious mental b****ing first. This makes me slightly concerned for the winter, when there will certainly be days I cannot run outside. 

Freakin' dreadmill. 

When it all goes to...

I think one of the most powerful things about running is it's still there when it all goes to s***. The past month has been a toughie. It's been ups and downs and backs and forths and backs again. Ironically, I've also been serious about my training now for about a month. The two are not related. But it's been nice to have a constant... to know that three times a week, I'll get that hour or so to just decompress and feel however I want to feel and not have to worry about whatever happens before or after the run. Without a doubt, I know this has been integral to my maintaining a chin up, survivalist attitude. 

I suppose it's comforting to know that when you're not sure which direction to go, you can just go forward. Because if you put one foot in front of the other, eventually, you get somewhere, right? 

A note about dogs

Let me start this post by saying I am not a dog person. I know, some of you probably hate me, so you can stop reading now. I just don't do well dogs. 


I don't know when this non-love of dogs started. From birth to age seven, we had a family dog named Foo. I loved Foo, because Foo was 1,000,000 years old. She was slow and she was sweet and she was loving. She was a special dog. She was not most dogs. Most dogs slobber. And bark. And run amok. No thank you. 


Since then, my good dog experiences have been limited. Here's the thing... they don't like me. They can tell I don't like them, and they reciprocate. When I walk into a house with a dog, inevitably she will come charging at me and jump on me with her front paws. It doesn't matter where I am or what dog I'm near, it ALWAYS happens. And I don't like it. I don't like getting scratched or slobbered on. Ick. 


On my morning weekend runs, I've passed a few dogs in the neighborhoods. They're always chained or fenced in and bark to their little hearts content. I don't mind. Secretly, I silently mock them, because I know they can't get to me. 


NOT the case today. 


I had just headed out on my five mile loop. This requires running the first mile or so down a major highway near my house before I turn and head into subdivisions and farm land. I'm always hyper aware when running on this stretch anyway because it's a fast paced highway with a slim shoulder. So, here I am, running along, when all the sudden out of the corner of my right eye, I saw IT. 


IT was a GIANT black dog bounding across his yard. I figured it would be fine, because the gigantor pup probably had an invisible fence in his yard. 


NOPE. 


Gigantor came shooting across his yard, BOUNDED OUT ACROSS THE HIGHWAY, and stopped near my hind quarters to bark at me. Luckily, a minivan came along which scared the evil pup away back into his yard. I used quite a bit of adrenalin up in that exchange. 


Let's discuss WHY this was so bothersome. 


First, what kind of genius doesn't put a leash, a chain, a shock collar, a detonator on a gigantor dog that lives along the highway? I mean, I hate the little sucker, but I still don't want to see him get squashed, or, irreparably wreck someone's vehicle with its giant dog body. Second, what kind of evil dog tries to attack someone who clearly is no threat to him or his family? Evil, evil dog. 


The sad part is, this wasn't the first time I'd seen said dog do this. A few weeks ago when driving somewhere with my mom, I saw gigantor run across the road and bark at a man walking toward the gas station. I'm telling you, this dog hates humans. I bet he hates his owners, too. 


So, really, I escaped unscathed with just a bit of wounded pride from screeching at a dog. But if gigantor comes near me again, I may in fact kick him. 

Why I Run

I suppose I've yet to properly explain why I'm running this half marathon. That's something I should clarify.

If you read my earlier post, you know that I started running sort of on accident. I'm pretty sure my rheumatologist wished this accident had never happened, but you'll have that. At first, it really was a way to just burn calories and energy. But as of late, it's become the time I value the most.

I think half the reason I love running so much is for that 30 minutes or 60 minutes or, eventually, 130 minutes that I'm running, I feel at peace. Yes, that is a complete and utter oxymoron... I feel at peace while my feet pound into the pavement, various parts of my lower body ache, and my lungs often feel labored. But mentally, I can rest. I don't have to think about lesson plans or my to-do list or the chaos of life. I can find clarity in what I'm thinking -- whether it's about something happy or something heartbreaking. I love that there's finally something I like doing in the outdoors (since my love of yardwork is practically (and by practically, I mean completely)) non-existent.

But that's not why I run.

If you've met me, you know that I am nothing if not a perfectionist. And by perfectionist, I mean, seriously perfectionistic. My parents love to tell the story of how as a toddler, I was slow to walk because every time I fell, I'd get pissed off and make someone carry me. Even at age one, I wanted to do everything right.

Now, I don't run perfectly. In fact, if someone analyzed my form, they'd probably have all sorts of critiques for me. I'm not a perfect runner. But for some reason, I don't care. Don't get me wrong... I hate the days when I have to walk during the middle of a run because I feel like I should be stronger than that. I get frustrated when I don't seem to be improving much on my time (my 5K PR is currently 27:50, and likely to stay there). I get frustrated when my muscles hurt or my body seems to be slower than usual.

But really, I don't care, because I CAN run.

When I was seventeen, there was a three month period where I could barely WALK. I would shuffle across the floor with little, labored, painful steps in order to get to the bathroom, the front door, the kitchen. I wore out the bottom of my socks because I never lifted my feet in that heel to toe movement so popular among walkers. I probably took 1,000 steps in those three months, and it was only out of necessity. I truly believe I've blocked so much out of that period in my life, because looking back, I don't remember all that much.

So why do I run?

I run for everyone who can't. I run in honor of the children, women, and men affected by Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis and other autoimmune diseases. I run for those who are bedridden, wheelchair bound, or otherwise unable. I run for those with broken bodies, broken hearts, or broken spirits. I run because for so long, I couldn't, and if I can run for someone else, I'm going to.

I'm not a great runner. I'm not even a good runner. But for all the princesses and princes who can't run, especially the children who are afflicted with something that holds them back, I run for them.

I'm the Map

I have really nothing special to write today. 


BUT, what I DO have is a copy of the course map! :) 


http://espnwwos.disney.go.com/media/ewwos/pdf/rundisney/princess/2012PrincessMap.pdf

View it and weep! Or, maybe that's just me who's viewing and weeping... 

Lip Gloss and Bugs

For some ridiculous reason, tonight's 45 minute run felt like it was lasting forever. This could be for multiple reasons:

1. I was tired from a crazy day at work.

2. I was ravenous and ate a quarter of a Jimmy John's sandwich prior to said run (this, shockingly, did not give me the energy to run).

3. I was, quite literally, dodging road kill (today brought lots of smashed frogs)

4. I was, quite literally, picking bugs out of my lip gloss. 

I should explain. I'm too lazy to drive anywhere pretty to run. It seems silly to me to DRIVE to run. So, I run by my house. I have a three mile course (which takes me directly to my parents' house for whatever meal time it happens to be by), a four mile course (through Lydick and near lots of horses and fields), and a five mile course (through Fox Run subdivision). Tonight's run took me on the four mile course (with an added bonus run through the subdivision). Apparently the 60 degree weather made the bugs reappear. And my, were they out in full force. 

I'm a pretty girly girl. This transcends all aspects of my life, including running. I wear my minty lip gloss when I run. It smells good. It keeps my lip moist. It's yummy. 

The bugs agree. 

I think I caught about eight bugs in my gloss tonight while running. SO. ANNOYING. After about a mile, I wiped most of the gloss off. Cue the grumpiness of my run. 

My focus was lacking. My feet were sweating. Wah. 

The next one will be better, yes?