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I am a runner.
I am a runner.
I feel confident in claiming this identity not because I have the hard-earned t-shirts in my bottom drawer - one from a two-mile fun run, one from a 5K - nor because I have my eye on my next 5K (It's called Run With Wolfes, you guys), nor because I own actualfax running shoes and love them quite irrationally. I'm sure I can call myself a runner because I got out of bed on the Sunday of![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
vividcon, got out of bed and ate a Clif bar and then went down to the fitness center and ran for fifty-two minutes on a treadmill.
On VividCon Sunday, you guys.
I've been noticing, lately, that I don't resist running--that I in fact resist having my running schedule disrupted. In July, while off in the wilds of West Michigan for a few days with my family, I got up and went out and ran on the dirt roads around the camp. Twice! I developed a standard route!
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
resonant's post about yoga made me think of this, partly because it echoes a lot of the ways I feel about running--mostly the wish that someone would have told me a lot sooner that I could do this, if I just went slowly and was patient with the process of getting stronger.
Part of it is different, though. I am a runner, but I'm still not at all sure that I actually like running. It's sort of, you know, boring. And repetitive. And physically unpleasant. I spent most of today's run staring at my watch, telling myself I could drop to a walk in just another minute if I really had to. I occasionally have moments of feeling like I've hit my stride, like everything has fallen into place and running is, for a stretch, easy. But I've rarely, if ever, experienced a runner's high. It's not really fun, although I keep hoping that it someday will be, when I'm stronger and faster and better.
But I'm a runner anyway: because neither of my parents made it to their sixty-second birthday without coronary bypass surgery; because it's good to do just one thing for an hour three times a week; because I have a perverse love for those post-run muscle twitches in my quads, like a car pinging as it cools; because I get to listen to podcasts and audio books. Because I want to keep getting better at it. Because I can.
I feel confident in claiming this identity not because I have the hard-earned t-shirts in my bottom drawer - one from a two-mile fun run, one from a 5K - nor because I have my eye on my next 5K (It's called Run With Wolfes, you guys), nor because I own actualfax running shoes and love them quite irrationally. I'm sure I can call myself a runner because I got out of bed on the Sunday of
vividcon, got out of bed and ate a Clif bar and then went down to the fitness center and ran for fifty-two minutes on a treadmill.On VividCon Sunday, you guys.
I've been noticing, lately, that I don't resist running--that I in fact resist having my running schedule disrupted. In July, while off in the wilds of West Michigan for a few days with my family, I got up and went out and ran on the dirt roads around the camp. Twice! I developed a standard route!
resonant's post about yoga made me think of this, partly because it echoes a lot of the ways I feel about running--mostly the wish that someone would have told me a lot sooner that I could do this, if I just went slowly and was patient with the process of getting stronger. Part of it is different, though. I am a runner, but I'm still not at all sure that I actually like running. It's sort of, you know, boring. And repetitive. And physically unpleasant. I spent most of today's run staring at my watch, telling myself I could drop to a walk in just another minute if I really had to. I occasionally have moments of feeling like I've hit my stride, like everything has fallen into place and running is, for a stretch, easy. But I've rarely, if ever, experienced a runner's high. It's not really fun, although I keep hoping that it someday will be, when I'm stronger and faster and better.
But I'm a runner anyway: because neither of my parents made it to their sixty-second birthday without coronary bypass surgery; because it's good to do just one thing for an hour three times a week; because I have a perverse love for those post-run muscle twitches in my quads, like a car pinging as it cools; because I get to listen to podcasts and audio books. Because I want to keep getting better at it. Because I can.
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Yay you!
I'm going to be down in Chicagoland for Thanksgiving (well, western Cook County), so I've been poking around looking for Turkey Trots in the area. Are you doing one of those?