It stared at me, for so many years, stared me right down and I would dismiss it like it was trash and continue on my way. I rolled my eyes at even the mention of it. “You people are crazy” I would say. It would take years of silent mocking before I would finally accept its challenge. I would quiet the beast once and for all.
I barely made it half a mile before I thought my lungs were going to spontaneously combust. I couldn’t talk, I could taste metal, sweat was dripping off my elbows and my face was the color of the fire extinguisher, the one I contemplated using to put the flames out in my chest. I thought, why do people do this to themselves? I could actually hear the machine cheering its victory song, it had defeated me. As I wobbled away and my heart rate slowed to a less terrifying beat, this calm came over me, a calm I hadn’t felt since childhood.
When I woke up the next morning, I had no intention of even acknowledging the beast. I packed my workout gear and thought about bringing along one of my husband’s hammers to “accidentally” drop on it….woops, but I held my head up high and planned to accept my defeat like a rational adult. Instead maybe I would throw a blanket over it.
There is something to be said about the words, “I can’t”. I am an athlete, I played soccer, was on the swim team, did gymnastics and dance, played softball, volleyball and even flag football. Running is an instinct, a natural part of my athletic being and therefore should be the easiest feat to accomplish. Bullshit. If the machine could talk, that is exactly what it would have said to me. And something along the lines of, “sit down little girl you have no idea what you’re doing”. I did my usual workout, watching the beast from the corner of my eye the entire time, doing its little victory dance. Before I left the gym that day I got back on that treadmill. And just like the day before, I thought, “there is no one here to save me if I go into cardiac arrest”. But I didn’t and there it was, I refused to believe “I can’t”. I didn’t keel over and that was a success in itself.
I ran every day, taking one or two days off a week and on those days I thought about running. At some point the beast became my confidant, a lesson to be learned by all. Breathing gradually became easier, my distance longer, my speed faster and my mental health was clearer. Yes, I know machines don’t actually mock people. I challenged myself, I thought for so many years, why do people put themselves through this kind of torture. In reality I was missing out on freedom.
I am not a long distance runner; I am not the fastest and by no means am I the greatest. I am just a runner. When the weight of the world rests itself on the back of my neck, when I don’t get enough sleep because the baby’s sick, when my son tells me the night before he has a 5-page report due, when my boss puts up another brick ceiling for me to chip through, when my house decides something major needs fixing, when someone say’s I can’t…I run. It is all the when’s in my life that make me run. And especially just because.
Running is so much more than just endurance, it’s mental and visual. For me, it starts with a tingle that creeps onto my toes, a sort of darkness that starts to claw and grab at my legs and work its way up in root to engulf me. I run and all the frustration, all the aggression and emotion comes off in chunks of gray. I run and I envision the beauties of the world, like the Cliffs of Mohr. I know when I get there I can stand at the edge overlooking its wonder. I can close my eyes and let the sun kiss my cheeks as the wind whips around my hair and tickles my neck, I can spread out my arms and feel it trace through my fingertips. And what I have left to inhale is peace. A cleansing breath, as simple as that.
Running off the treadmill and onto the pavement was another feat all in itself. I barely made it out of my work parking lot before I had to use a tree to support myself. And just like the treadmill, I conquered it and then I ran through a pregnancy. I surprised myself when I hit the pavement after nearly 12 weeks of rest and went for a 2 mile morning jog. And then a friend suggested I try a new gym. I think the reference Drill Sargeant came into the conversation. Running made me very aware of how naïve I was so naturally I thought, “cool, a new beast to conquer, this will be fun”. My first class was a conditioning class, some sort of circuit training? Having never belonged to a gym, I now believe the words conditioning and circuit training should have been followed with a large flashing sign that read “BEWARE, all newbie’s may want to bring a bucket”. I thought, “This is not fun, why do people do this to themselves?”
There is something else to be said about the word, “pride”. I am proud that I made it through the first class without throwing up. With that said, I called my husband on the way home to express the overwhelming feeling of nausea and to warn him that I would probably look like death when I walked in the door, “please make sure you clear a path for me to the couch”. I’m also proud that I was able to go golfing the next day, although I’m sure the sound affects I made with every movement only made it harder for my mother to concentrate. That night, as my baby boy lay on the bath towel waiting for me to pick him up and put him in the tub I asked myself, “how are you planning on getting down there”. Somehow I did and I thought, “It’s a miracle, my legs stayed intact”. And just like running, I went back the next week. It suddenly became my “mom time”, the much needed mental break away from my every day routine of kids, work, kids, home, kids, bed, kids.
I know why people do this to themselves; it’s about feeling good all around. Forget about the quest to get your teenage body back, I took for granted my youth, this is my new youth. My life is becoming about the “I can’s” and when, I do, I inhale peace. Small goals lead to great successes. Making it through a conditioning class, running a half mile, these were my goals that I conquered that led to more goals, bigger goals and made me appreciate the accomplishments I have in my life even more. A cleansing breath, as simple as that.
