Run, Meggie, Run!

This is me lately...feeling like something that has
held me back is breaking off and giving me freedom.

That girl is a running fool.

On Thursday, I didn't set out to set a new best time on my running route. I was just glad to get back outside, far, far away from the "dreadmill." This morning, I set off for my Sunday morning run with a happy smile; a break in this weekend's rain storms gave me a nice window to do my full warm-up walk, 2.5-mile run, and "active recovery" walk home without risking my Mizunos.

Again, I did not set out to set a new best time.

When I arrived at my normal starting point, I broke into a run, starting my stopwatch and immediately setting the iPod screen to show the "now playing" option instead of my time. I thought I might be going a little faster than usual, but my legs felt good and everything else was copacetic, as well. So (to quote Forrest Gump), "I...just ran."

All was well.

Then I got to the 2-mile mark. At two miles, I turn off onto a main road, and thus begins the hardest part of my run--the last half-mile. It's not particularly difficult. It's mostly flat, but mentally, that part of my run is always a killer. It's where I'm most likely to walk. It's where I always have to push myself. And today, as I rounded the corner, it's where I got a horrible stitch in my side.

I continued running, and refocused my breathing, taking deep breaths all the way down to my belly and puffing them out as I've been taught. The stitch would not subside. So I walked for a moment, until it started to go away, then I gamely began running again.

It immediately returned.

At this point, for some reason, I did something I usually don't do--I checked my time. I guess I figured that if I wasn't gearing towards a new best time, I'd just walk the rest of the way, by now somewhere between one-quarter and one-half of a mile. I was jogging pitifully, resisting the urge to hold my side, when I realized that the clock was nearing 24 minutes...definitely faster than usual.

So I decided to push. Three years ago, quitting time would have come long before this. Today, I wanted that best time. I ran harder. The stitch in my side remained, and as I pushed myself, my stomach started to feel a little queasy. I grimly thought that I'd rather be fast and get sick at the end than give up now.

When I reached my stoplight-pole/finish line, I looked again at my stopwatch, figuring anything faster than Thursday's 28:28 would be fantastic. Imagine my complete surprise when I hit the stop button and realized my time was 26:53--a whopping minute-and-a-half faster.

Taking heaving breaths and willing my angry stomach to settle down, I started my long, uphill recovery walk home. I gasped out loud, a few quick "Oh, my Gods" and some huffs of laughter. My shirt was drenched and my hair dripping. It was so very, very satisfying.

Runners are a special breed. We get to that point where we'll risk throwing up in public and many other indignities (I have read blogs about people wetting and/or soiling themselves, spending a good portion of the race in a Porta-Potty, and all kinds of things) all in the quest of a new best time, or even just finishing the race. One of my fellow running fools on Twitter just posted this blog post tonight, Crawl. Watch the video he shared--you may not understand why anyone would put themselves through the misery and discomfort of a140.6-mile race (I surely don't have any grand dreams of doing that, ever, or even a marathon. I love my running, but I'll stick to 5Ks and maybe eventually 10Ks). You may not understand why anyone could do that to their body. But I dare you not to tear up watching these two women crawl. That heart, that desire, is what pushes runners along. It's what makes me, the former fat girl, now a running fool, ignore a stitch in the side and an angry stomach, all in the quest to shave some time off of a daily two-and-a-half-mile run.

It's a runner thing.