It was 8miles into a 13 mile run. I was feeling great... well.... tired and smelly and thirsty and mildly insane... and great. I was waiting at the corner of an intersection waiting for the walk signal and stretching an achy foot out a little...generally minding my own business. The walk signal came up and I started to run across the crosswalk. Out of nowhere and loud enough to hear over my headphones I hear, "Run Faster, YOU FAT ASS UGLY BITCH!! Run Faster!! IT'S NOT WORKING!!" and I turned to see some guys snickering in my direction from a truck at the intersection. Holy Crap! They were talking to me! And what happened next was what got me thinking about this whole running thing.
I laughed. I laughed out loud in their faces, smacked my ass and kept on running.
While I ran I thought about how that insult would have crushed me not that long ago... I never would have let it show but it would have made me sick to my stomach. I would have agonized over it for far too long. Instead my first thought was "Pa-lease you sad little man. This 'fat ass' just ran 8 miles. It IS working".
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| Me and my medal after the San Diego Rock N Roll Half Marathon in June 2013 |
1. Running makes me powerful. My runner's body is not a "runner's body".... but it runs. It runs FAR. The first time I ran a 5k I could not BELIEVE I had run the entire way... no excuses, no bullshit... I just did it. I remember half way through feeling like something was terribly wrong... my legs were shaking... my lungs felt like they were closing in on themselves... everything in my brain was telling me to stop. I told my brain to shut the fuck up and kept running. Thinking back on it I realize that nothing was terribly wrong. I was just exercising.... and it was so foreign that my brain just freaked out! I know that sounds crazy.... but I also know someone out there knows exactly what I'm talking about. So I feel powerful because I didn't stop. I feel powerful because I refuse to stop. I feel powerful because I keep surpassing the goals I set for myself. I AM powerful.... and that makes me better at, well, everything.
2. Running makes me understand that competition, when it's healthy, does not mean I frigging hate everyone who is better at running than I am. Do I still pick out "Rainbow Sock Lady" or "Beerfest TShirt Guy" in a race and decide that I am going to blow past them in the final sprint? You bet I do. Do I still pick up my pace and try not to look like a total mess when I'm passing another runner on the street? Yes, Doesn't everyone? But when I watch the lady at a 8.5 on the treadmill at the gym I marvel instead of grumble.. and when the guy finishes up a grueling beach run with a ridiculous sprint up the 100 steps to the parking lot and I hoot and cheer and send him good thoughts. Three years ago I would have hated that guy... simply for being able to do something I couldn't do. "Showoff. Ugh" It's ridiculous how reasonable that seemed. It's amazing how much better this feels...how great it feels to be genuinely excited about friends' Nike+ posts on facebook, or check-ins at 24hr Fitness. It feels like being a positive force in the world.
3. Running has made me accept my body with love and honesty. There was a very long time that I hid from the mirror when I got out of the shower. I lived in a blissful ignorance of the reality of my body. It was a real disconnect. I had a vague idea of the whole situation but I liked to take it in brief glimpses and peeks of one area at a time... safer that way (but maybe not so blissful after all). When I started to run it forced me to start thinking about my body... it made me appreciate it as a machine. It yells at me when I push it, It soaks through gym clothes, and it does what I tell it to do (sometimes while swearing like a sailor but it still does it, dammit). It's MY machine. And I finally understand what it means to love your body. Love for its ability to continually surprised me with its strength and endurance. Love for the post-run soreness. Love for the thrum and buzz in my muscles. Love for what my body can do....because even when I didn't believe that I could do it... it knew. Don't get me wrong. It's not all sunshine and rainbows. While there is love there is also honesty. I look in the mirror now when I get out of the shower. I mean I loo-oook. I see my jiggly belly, my wide hips, my thick thighs. They are mine... and I see them. I no longer hate them, I no longer obsess over them, and (most importantly) I no longer ignore them. I have goals and I am honest about my progress. Running has made me head in the right direction... no matter how slowly I get there... I'm getting there. My body and I. Together. Because we're in love.
4. Finding my stride takes time. Even after three years of running my body still fights me for a full mile. My legs start to warm up, my heart starts to pump, my lungs start to work and my body instantly goes into its lazy asshole mode.... "We got shit to do. Let's just stop running and go make a grocery list".... "It's so early! Let's just go back to bed".... "I think I feel a leg cramp".... such a bitchy whiney asshole my body is for that mile. Every. Damn. Time. I remain determined and unwavering. I ignore the grumbles and excuses and reasons I can't do it. And then suddenly it happens. It stops complaining. All I hear is the sound of my feet on the ground and the bass thumping out a good rhythm to run to. And I find my stride. At that moment I feel like I could run for pretty much ever. As soon as my brain and body just shut up and get on board I've won. There's a metaphor for life somewhere in there.
So... Douchebag guy in the truck. You didn't know it but I had already run 8 miles when I passed you in that crosswalk... and that I had 5 more to go. You didn't know that I could run circles around your sad little situation. It's okay. You have no power over me with your ugliness. You can't break my stride. So I spank my bum at you and laugh in your general direction. Because I'm kind of a Bad Ass. And you kind of suck. Too bad for you, eh?
