The Running Life

I can't believe I am going to write this post about running because it is so weird how much space--emotionally and physically--running has taken in my life. Seriously, it's strange. In high school, I was part of a running team that was nationally known. My coach was recognized as one of the best in the country and I ate, slept and breathed running. I actually went to running camp. I even told stories about running camp (the shame!) Fall was cross-country which eventually gave way to winter and spring track. I was a sprinter, hurdler and high-jumper and also I was very average on this team. But it was a HUGE part of my identity and I still recognize myself as a "runner" today. It's in quotes because "runner's" don't see themselves as "jogger's" and runner's wear "running shoes" and not "sneakers" and "runner's" give each other a nod of solidarity on the trails, the "runner's wave" if you will. I am a "runner" (huge dork).

Hahhhahhahhahhahhahhhhaaaahhhaaaa! It's funny that I have this totally pretentious thought process about a sport, the reality of which is that I have no business identifying with. I waddle, barely the pace of a shuffle in "running clothes" from high school or freshman year of college (only a novice still runs in a cotton t-shirt. No wicking fabric for me) and come home so spent and claim, "I just went for a run." Well, this delusional me signed up for a half-marathon 5 months ago that takes place this Sunday in Golden Gate Park. I have, in my shuffle state, actually gotten myself through two 8-mile runs, the last one being a few weeks ago. Now. Since I am seriously deranged, I often think I can do more than I can because I've been a "runner" for 20 years and have a history of finishing half-marathon's (remember Vancouver, Alice? That was the last one!) at various points of my life. Since I suffered through 8 miles somewhat recently, I am telling myself that if need be I can workout and extra two to make 10, at which point I only have 3.1 left to complete a half marathon.

Call me crazy, but since I paid the fee, I am showing up this Sunday morning to see what happens--waddle butt, two jog-bras (thank you new milky pregnancy boobs), cotton-tee and a grim set of my jaw as I say to myself "I am a runner. I am a runner...." Wish me luck!