Let’s be clear: I’m no one’s definition of a runner. I was that girl once and I am proud to say that I have a marathon under my belt. I will also mention that the marathon was nearly 15 years ago. Still, this winter I did start my version of running again – albeit basically a slow jog. I have to say, after three weeks and just 12 miles under my belt, I’m not sorry I did. Scarily enough, I’m actually looking forward to my twice-weekly running routine.
By what I run? Oh, that’s complicated.
First, I run for the obvious physical benefits. I was getting old before my time and I live in fear of a set of bad lungs truncating the best years of my life. As we make that painfully slow right-hand towards retirement, I’m acutely aware that my husband is in great shape and I want to be around to explore a few decades with him. I also want to get to the point where we can travel a bit and do new and fun things. Women who need oxygen tanks can’t do those things.
The physical benefits go beyond building heart muscle so that my heart can compensate for my scarred asthmatic lungs. Every day, there are free cancer cells pinging through my aging body. Running? My body gets the message that it needs to start working more efficiently and kills off those cells. Good job, body. I needed that.
Running also helps the jiggly get a little less, ahem, jiggly. I need to lose weight. Menopause was not kind to me and I gained 26 pounds. I went from 135 to 161 pounds in a matter of two years. It was awful. I felt bloated, swollen and I ached everywhere and everyday. Gradually, I took control a year ago and lost six pounds. But then? Well, the scale stuck. I hovered between 154 – the days I celebrated – and 158 – the days I cried. Mostly? I stayed between 155 and 156. I was a little proud that my jeans were now fitting better but I also knew that I didn’t like the way I looked in a mirror. Shirts didn’t fit me well, tank tops looked hysterical with my arm fat all jiggling around and my favorite (and expensive) pants that I had splurged on just five years ago were now unwearable. Running tightens everything up and is the fastest way I know to both lose weight and inches.
Running also has some serious psychological benefits for me. A big reason I started running again is that I felt weak. I felt like I had lost just a little bit of control over my body. Yes, I was able to lift 60# bags of cement when we were mixing cement for our deck and I was able to work right alongside my husband, digging dirt, lifting out rocks and working to set the piers for our new deck. I carried deck boards, lifted and held framing boards in place and did my share of lugging, hauling and cleanup. So, it wasn’t that I was “so far gone” that I wanted to start running again. Instead, it was because I was far enough gone that I didn’t feel in control.
I had also lost a lot of my willpower. I used to be one of those people who could just will things to get done. Then, I wasn’t. Running re-instills my willpower. Quite frankly, that first half mile is a mind battle. My first thought – each and every time I step on that treadmill – is: “This isn’t my day. Perhaps I should just try tomorrow.” But I run anyway and after a half-mile, my breathing is rhythmic, my pace is established (if slow) and I’m feeling good. That good feeling lasts until about 2.15 miles into my run. And then? Oh goodness, I obsessively watch the clock and my distance. Soon enough, though, the calorie ticker tops 300 calories burned and I’m at 2.6 miles. Just a half-mile to go (because why run 3 miles when you can do a 5K?). I’m tired but a little more determined. At 2.75 miles? Oh, I’m bargaining with myself. “Does it really matter if I run 3.0 vs. 3.1?” I ask myself. But then, I hit 2.9 miles and my hand automatically goes to the pace knob. Time to push through to 3.1 and I can run a whole lot faster for .2 miles. Just watch me.
When I get done, I’m gross. My heart rate is typically in the 170s and for a 57-year old woman, it should max out at 167. But it quickly comes down within 30 seconds of me slowing down. If I dared to look around, I’d be the sweatiest and most red-faced person in the gym. I don’t dare look around. I probably gross people out. But… oh man, I feel good. I feel tough. I feel accomplished. I feel strong again. And I feel confident. I. Did. It. There’s a sense of achievement that is just spectacular in those moments.
So, that’s the physical and mental reason why I run. Some of its logic and some of it is pure emotion. They are all good reasons to run. But why, really, do I run?
Digging deep, I run for the fragile me. I run for those bad lungs, those flabby thighs, that weak mind and that slightly bruised soul. I run because I spend a lot of my life putting everything else first – my job, my husband, our home, the kids, our pets… . Deep inside, I was willing to let everything else slide – and particularly me slide – to take care of everyone else. But when I run? No one but me benefits. And the part of me that benefits is the most vulnerable and the most undernourished.
So, I run. Slowly, badly, and not all that far. But in those 3.1 miles I give to myself.
I run. I run for me.
The Yuppie Homesteader 