What's running my life?

I stood there at the finish line at the Calgary HSBC Marathon, watching the sweat drip off their bodies, the passion and intensity in their eyes, and hearing the roar of proud and inspired onlookers.

Then I got a call from W saying he’s been done for half an hour. How is it that these 30 something thousand people got up at 5am, to run 20-40kms, and I can’t make it to the finish line in time, at 10am, on a Sunday, in my car, after sipping coffee and chatting with my roomies for a good hour. I apologized to W for being late, and he put his hands out in a ‘wowha’ sort of manner and said “We’ve only been together for 1 month”..then he raised his eyebrows in a manner than suggested I was being ridiculous for caring so much. (Refer to posting about my gorgeous eyes..yep) But it wasn’t even about him, I was angry with myself for not being as good as all these runners, for not having the passion and drive. I’m supposed to be a passionate person!? I wanted to have that passion and drive that I saw in everyone approaching that finish line. I want that.

When I heard about Betty’s 5 mile run for ALS, I signed up immediately, it’s a good cause, it’s in 2 weeks. I’m a professional fundraiser, and now, an aspiring runner.

It’s perfect, I will run 5 miles.

So, the following week, I go for a slow jog once around the field outside my house, my throat hurt, my foot cramped up, and the 5 minute run left me thinking these marathon runners had super powers. I wanted that.

Next run 2 days later, I choose a dog park. Um, now I don’t know what the etiquette around dog parks and runners are, but the dogs kept chasing me, and the owners were snarling at me for distracting the dogs. ‘Excuse me’ I thought in my head, as I fought of the pain from head to toe, and gasped for air. But I didn’t care. I was running. It was a hot sunny day, and I was running. It has been about 20 minutes and I was still going strong. Me...strong..about 38 dogs..and disgruntled owners to boot. I felt great, I can totally do this. Then I go to wipe my nose, thinking it’s just a bit of, runners snot or something, and my hand is covered in blood. By the time I stop running, about 0.4 seconds after discovering all the blood, a second smammering of blood has already managed to coat my white tank top. That’s lovely. I’m catching my breath, uncomfortably far from my home, tasting the mix of sweat and blood, and quickly drawing a rather concerned looking audience of dogs and owners, as I stared at my pathetic looking self, wondering whose ideas this running thing was anyway.

I walked home, defeated, bloody, and fighting back tears of discomfort and humiliation.
That was the beginning of a 2 week journey that included a strict schedule of running every other night, a little bit longer every night. (On running paths, with water, and dark clothing). 2kms, 4kms, 4km, 3.5km, 4km, 6km, 8km. This pattern of runs including my routes was recorded after every run on www.mapmyrun.com. With each run, I felt more liberated, stronger, and closer to being one of those people I so envied at the finish line that day.

Over this 2 weeks, I felt W slipping further away, with every new run, the e-mails got shorter, the phone calls quieter, the planning of experiencing new things coming to a complete halt. This was all confirmed 3 days before the big run.

My sister and I arrived at Betty’s run that morning, I was nervous and excited. As soon as I got there W caught my eye and smiled at me. I couldn’t avoid this, that would just be rude, I convinced myself, despite V’s claim that I never do well in these situations. I’m a strong independent woman. And we smile and do introductions, but I can’t just leave it at that, I start rambling, talking to people who were not even talking to me, and run away just like I would in grade 7 after telling Max I had a crush on him. Turns out V had a point. I certainly have perfected the art of making an awkward situation that much worse.

As I stood at the start line I wanted nothing more than for him to hug me and tell me I was amazing, and that I could do anything. The countdown started...6...5...4....panic sets in as I desperately looked for him in the mass of ridiculously experienced looking runners. But instead, I put my head down, put my headphones in, as my sister and I looked at each other with polite smiles, and complete fear...we just started running.

The first km was liberating and scary, the second km was more focusing on breathing, drinking some water. As we approach 3, V asks me why people are going backwards. It turns out they are actually 6 kms head of us in the race. They looked exactly like the runners at the finish line at the marathon 2 weeks ago, passionate, intense, hot...I was so happy to be in the same race as these impressive and determined people. I was really proud of myself..before I realized I still wasn’t even at 3km, and I shouldn’t get excited yet.

We passed 3 , and went down a very steep hill, which was lovely until we realized that the last 4kms are only the first 4, except backwards.
After gaily jogging down this lovely and large hill, we looked at each other with sheer panic and fear at the idea of having to run back up it. Runners were coming up the hill, they looked red, thirsty, scrunched up and painful to even look at faces.

I looked away, legs shaky, sweat bouncing off my forehead, I kept my head down, exchanged a few jokes about the intense runners with V, which gave us a bit more energy to continue after the horror of seeing that hill. Approaching 4km, we passed W, who gave me that look of encouragement I wanted at the start line, he said “You got this”..I was almost surprised when the sentence was not followed with ‘babe’, as it had in weeks prior.

Despite everything, it still helped, it still made me smile, even if he just dumped me, he still believed in me enough to know that I could finish this race, and I was really in no position to be turning down any such fans. When it came time to go back up the hill, we decided the best idea was to run up it really fast, you know..to get it over with..nope, no, I’m going to vomit. We stopped for about 3 seconds at the water station at the top of the hill, drank like camels, poured the remainder over my head, and kept going. My music turned bubbly, damn it, just poured water into my earphones.

The last 4kms was a painful and zombie like blur that involved deep analytical breakdowns of the lyrics of the music I was listening too.
We saw the finish line and starting running just a little bit faster, of excitement, of exhaustion...we finished in just under 1 hour. I had completed my very first real grown up running charity event. And with V, who stood (or ran) by my side the entire time.

Maybe it’s not relevant how I got here, but it really was a life changing 2 weeks, I love running. I can do anything.