Running is supposed to make you feel better about yourself.
You are supposed to sail along being carried by some imaginary endorphins that
give you this mythical “runners high”. Personally I think you need to be high
to even take this up for fun or for sport. I was just picturing how I must have
appeared today, bumbling along in my flashy purple and black outfit looking
like an out-of-season snow girl the way my tights were carving so
unapologetically into my sides. Oh yes! I mustn’t forget to mention that these
lovely tights that held me in so ungraciously like a freshly packaged sausage
were INSIDE OUT.
I dare not call myself a runner, as it would be an insult to those who take this seriously. Admittedly, my whole intrigue with running started quite a few years ago as I sat on a plane, wearing a cute black suit that was cutting off circulation to my brains because it was so tight around the waist. I have NEVER enjoyed anything about running. I would run if needed – ok fine. Touch my wee babies? Yes – this mama bear will run after you and tear you to shreds. If I needed to escape from some form of threatening wildlife or natural disaster – ok fine. I would run – but it’s not fun. One of my friends suggested that I just keep signing up for races to keep myself motivated. To me, that sounded dumb. A RACE? Subject myself to an event with sympathetic onlookers and hecklers no doubt? Gee what a novel idea! NOT.
It wasn’t until I actually started investigating potential running races that the flood gate of possibilities opened up. A fancy new running shirt? A reflective new running cap? Wow…you mean I could get a shiny bad-ass medal just for making it across the finish line? Things were certainly looking up. I just had to figure out how to travel a distance of 8 to 10K concealed neatly among throngs of spandex-clad individuals, and I would be golden.
The Races…a couple of worthy mentions
I dare not call myself a runner, as it would be an insult to those who take this seriously. Admittedly, my whole intrigue with running started quite a few years ago as I sat on a plane, wearing a cute black suit that was cutting off circulation to my brains because it was so tight around the waist. I have NEVER enjoyed anything about running. I would run if needed – ok fine. Touch my wee babies? Yes – this mama bear will run after you and tear you to shreds. If I needed to escape from some form of threatening wildlife or natural disaster – ok fine. I would run – but it’s not fun. One of my friends suggested that I just keep signing up for races to keep myself motivated. To me, that sounded dumb. A RACE? Subject myself to an event with sympathetic onlookers and hecklers no doubt? Gee what a novel idea! NOT.
It wasn’t until I actually started investigating potential running races that the flood gate of possibilities opened up. A fancy new running shirt? A reflective new running cap? Wow…you mean I could get a shiny bad-ass medal just for making it across the finish line? Things were certainly looking up. I just had to figure out how to travel a distance of 8 to 10K concealed neatly among throngs of spandex-clad individuals, and I would be golden.
The Races…a couple of worthy mentions
Harry Rosen 8K run in High Park
I was entering the week in which I would attempt to complete 8K for the first time in my Running Room class. What the hell! Why don’t I just sign up for the Harry Rosen 8K and see how I would fare! This race, incidentally was known for its vertical DEATH CLIMB at the end. I picked up my swag bag with wild anticipation. Terrific! A stiff lime greenish shirt with boxy arms and an ill-fitting hat to match! Fantastic! After the gun went off, I dipped and swirled and slipped along with the rest of the crowd. This race was notorious for always having bad weather. As I was rounding my first bend I was told to “Keep to the side!” for what I believe was a flash of Kenyan runners heading for the finish line. Yes. The FINISH LINE. The scenery was quite beautiful, as everyone said it would be. It was High Park after all! Oh and how lovely! Drink stations and a lovely band playing at the mid-point of the race. How considerate. After hauling my unconditioned form and contorted face up said Death Hill, I hyperventilated my way through the finish shoot. Surprisingly, I didn’t keel over from the weight of the medal as these were truly WWF looking adornments. The highlight of the day was cheering Eric and Emerson and Kai on as they completed the 5K race…this involved Eric pushing a 45 pound stroller with one hand (with a 35 pound child riding inside), while hauling along an almost 5 year-old calling him every name in the book…not to mention that I do believe that their resulting race time was comparatively way better than mine. The site of this somehow made my finisher medal (only given to the 8K people) seem a little sad.
I was entering the week in which I would attempt to complete 8K for the first time in my Running Room class. What the hell! Why don’t I just sign up for the Harry Rosen 8K and see how I would fare! This race, incidentally was known for its vertical DEATH CLIMB at the end. I picked up my swag bag with wild anticipation. Terrific! A stiff lime greenish shirt with boxy arms and an ill-fitting hat to match! Fantastic! After the gun went off, I dipped and swirled and slipped along with the rest of the crowd. This race was notorious for always having bad weather. As I was rounding my first bend I was told to “Keep to the side!” for what I believe was a flash of Kenyan runners heading for the finish line. Yes. The FINISH LINE. The scenery was quite beautiful, as everyone said it would be. It was High Park after all! Oh and how lovely! Drink stations and a lovely band playing at the mid-point of the race. How considerate. After hauling my unconditioned form and contorted face up said Death Hill, I hyperventilated my way through the finish shoot. Surprisingly, I didn’t keel over from the weight of the medal as these were truly WWF looking adornments. The highlight of the day was cheering Eric and Emerson and Kai on as they completed the 5K race…this involved Eric pushing a 45 pound stroller with one hand (with a 35 pound child riding inside), while hauling along an almost 5 year-old calling him every name in the book…not to mention that I do believe that their resulting race time was comparatively way better than mine. The site of this somehow made my finisher medal (only given to the 8K people) seem a little sad.
The Nissan 10 Miler: Distillery District
I had been spying this event online for quite a few months wondering if I would be capable of running 16K without making a complete ass of myself. Sorry for the expression… but let’s be honest. I had only started running in January, and this race was in mid-July. At about the 1.5 week stage before the race was scheduled, I bit the bullet and signed up. After all – that was a pretty sweet looking running shirt and what a lovely medal yet again! I’m sure a lot of work went into making those, so I felt the need to do my part and support the event. The most I had ever run was 13K, so in my mind, what was the big issue with just tacking on another 3K? Piece of cake. On the morning of the race, I woke up with sick anticipation. What have I done? Oh! And what’s this? What great timing. A special gift from Mother Nature. Perfect. Just the way I wanted to start my day. Not only was I concerned with even being able to finish the race, now I also had to contend with feeling like a beached whale with raging hormones. Nice. Soon the gun went off and I waited for all the real runners to take off so that the rest of us could amble politely behind them. I must admit that the first 8K were pretty sweet with all of my kms clocking well under 6 minutes per kilometre. For a new runner, this was pretty good. To ensure that I would have enough gusto to finish the race, I popped back a recommended, disgusting, gelatinous block in the so-called flavour of key lime. Blech. At kilometre number 11, the magic began. Suggestions of light bodily protest started to overcome me. This wasn’t good. My game plan was to have an awe-inspiring kick over the last 3 kilometres of the race and to finish strong. It was one of those races in which I somehow got “stuck” to someone who kept appearing and disappearing from my side the whole time. Not to mention she had a running companion who ran leisurely alongside her as they effortlessly discussed favourite recipes. By kilometre 14, I became hateful. I felt like tearing down the obnoxious little arch that the 5K people had happily pranced through hours before. It annoyed me. At this stage it became an out-of-body experience. My arms were swinging wildly trying to propel me forward while my legs shuffled along like two gigantic tree trunks. I literally looked like I was running with clubbed feet. I wanted this hell to end. I couldn’t tell if the onlookers were trying to encourage me to keep running or if they were trying to usher me to the first available St. John’s Ambulance station. Not soon enough, in the distance I could detect the finishing shoot. I hobbled towards it with maximum rage and sheer determination. As my sorry feet went over the sensor, I threw my arms up in exhausted elation. I did it! And what an enthusiastic crowd! I locked in on a wide-eyed woman screaming at me to KEEP GOING. It was all in slow motion…NOOOOO….the finish line was still another 50 metres ahead. Seems like nothing to most…but not when your body has completely shut down. Sadly, I would have to sign autographs later. Dry mouth, unsightly swagger, I had a race to finish.
After this anti-climactic end to this ordeal, I found everything to be strangely calm and surreal. I looked down at my Garmin to note with astonishment that I had burned over 1,000 calories during this hateful[SK1] experience. Was it worth it?...well…despite the gawd-awful, homely new running shirt, and the feelings of complete and utter desperation I was forced to endure, I gotta be honest…it was totally worth it.
I had been spying this event online for quite a few months wondering if I would be capable of running 16K without making a complete ass of myself. Sorry for the expression… but let’s be honest. I had only started running in January, and this race was in mid-July. At about the 1.5 week stage before the race was scheduled, I bit the bullet and signed up. After all – that was a pretty sweet looking running shirt and what a lovely medal yet again! I’m sure a lot of work went into making those, so I felt the need to do my part and support the event. The most I had ever run was 13K, so in my mind, what was the big issue with just tacking on another 3K? Piece of cake. On the morning of the race, I woke up with sick anticipation. What have I done? Oh! And what’s this? What great timing. A special gift from Mother Nature. Perfect. Just the way I wanted to start my day. Not only was I concerned with even being able to finish the race, now I also had to contend with feeling like a beached whale with raging hormones. Nice. Soon the gun went off and I waited for all the real runners to take off so that the rest of us could amble politely behind them. I must admit that the first 8K were pretty sweet with all of my kms clocking well under 6 minutes per kilometre. For a new runner, this was pretty good. To ensure that I would have enough gusto to finish the race, I popped back a recommended, disgusting, gelatinous block in the so-called flavour of key lime. Blech. At kilometre number 11, the magic began. Suggestions of light bodily protest started to overcome me. This wasn’t good. My game plan was to have an awe-inspiring kick over the last 3 kilometres of the race and to finish strong. It was one of those races in which I somehow got “stuck” to someone who kept appearing and disappearing from my side the whole time. Not to mention she had a running companion who ran leisurely alongside her as they effortlessly discussed favourite recipes. By kilometre 14, I became hateful. I felt like tearing down the obnoxious little arch that the 5K people had happily pranced through hours before. It annoyed me. At this stage it became an out-of-body experience. My arms were swinging wildly trying to propel me forward while my legs shuffled along like two gigantic tree trunks. I literally looked like I was running with clubbed feet. I wanted this hell to end. I couldn’t tell if the onlookers were trying to encourage me to keep running or if they were trying to usher me to the first available St. John’s Ambulance station. Not soon enough, in the distance I could detect the finishing shoot. I hobbled towards it with maximum rage and sheer determination. As my sorry feet went over the sensor, I threw my arms up in exhausted elation. I did it! And what an enthusiastic crowd! I locked in on a wide-eyed woman screaming at me to KEEP GOING. It was all in slow motion…NOOOOO….the finish line was still another 50 metres ahead. Seems like nothing to most…but not when your body has completely shut down. Sadly, I would have to sign autographs later. Dry mouth, unsightly swagger, I had a race to finish.
After this anti-climactic end to this ordeal, I found everything to be strangely calm and surreal. I looked down at my Garmin to note with astonishment that I had burned over 1,000 calories during this hateful[SK1] experience. Was it worth it?...well…despite the gawd-awful, homely new running shirt, and the feelings of complete and utter desperation I was forced to endure, I gotta be honest…it was totally worth it.
The comeback…
In my first year of running, I actually managed to knock off
quite a few races…The Achilles 5K,
the Harry Rosen 8K, the Sporting Life 10K, the HBC Run for the Olympic Athletes 10K, the
Nissan 10 Miler and the Oasis 10K Zoo Run. I had to unfortunately
cut this blossoming new career short due to some health reasons, but after
recovering, I was raring to go. Maybe I could actually be kind of good at this…
During my road to recovery, training was truly off and on as I had to take certain precautions and not push myself too hard as I re-entered the running arena. That said, I decided upon a race that was a little more obscure and did not involve chip timing. The last thing I needed at this point was to have my miserable results plastered all over the internet by some well-meaning race organizer. The first race I entered was a sweet little 5K called the Run and Walk for Huntington Disease. My decision to sign up for such a race proved that I had really matured as a runner – that I was really fine-tuning my running outlook and motivation. See, there were no shirts or medals to be given out at this one. You were simply running for a great cause, and for the love of running. No sweet swag bag. Ok. I guess that made sense somehow. The night before the race, the sick feeling of butterflies were overtaking my ability to get a good night’s rest. I had to drive all the way from Ajax to Sunnybrook Park, so that only added to my stress that I might actually not wake up and miss the damn thing. After about 4 hours of restless sleep, I awoke to the sound of my nasty alarm. As I reached to turn it off, I noticed that my little iPod was propped neatly beside it. Hmmm…I didn’t remember putting it there. Eric mumbled to me to make sure that I didn’t forget it for my race. Ok. I should really mention at this stage that real runners do not run with music plugged in to their ears on race day. It is not considerate of others, and really – you should be in-tune with the whole racing experience and with how you are feeling. That said, I chose to be horribly selfish that day. I really didn’t want to hear myself gasping miserably along a path and sounding as pathetic as I would be feeling. While in the car, I hit ‘play’ on the iPod…hmmm…there appeared to be music loaded on. I clicked along to get a sense of what was on it, but then felt distracted and tucked it away. It was affecting my pre-race mental prep. When I checked in for the race, they handed me my drawstring bag with a bottle of water and some other coupons that I was unlikely to use inside. I gently tipped the bag upside down hoping some fun, unannounced treasure would come tumbling out. No luck. At the start line, I noticed that people around were pumped up, CHARGED, truly excited about this race. I wasn’t. I was secretly dying inside. “Don’t forget to hit ‘start’ on your iPod at the beginning of the race” were Eric’s last words to me as I left that morning. “SSSHHHH – POP!” We were off! As requested, I hit start on the iPod. “I can’t break away!...I can’t break away!” Well thank you Eric. This was very encouraging. This was just the song that I wanted to be hearing as I was being elbowed and trod upon out of the start gate. Weren’t we just off to the most amazing, encouraging start! Oh yes! And it was by a band called Big Pig. Didn’t I just feel like a real winner at that moment...Along came the next song, ”Pour some sugar on MEEEEEE!” Huh? What’s this? Def Leppard? I didn’t get it….not to mention I hated that song. Sugar? What the…??? The next song was the soundtrack to the Transformers….the lyrics to this? “So let mercy come, and wash away – what I’ve done! I’ll face myself, to cross out what I’ve become!” This was torture, just plain wrong. I was married to a truly twisted individual. This was followed with, “G-L-A-M-O-R-OUS” by Fergie. For real?! Now?! At a time like this? Was this some sort of sick joke? By the title of the song itself, I began plotting on how to do away with my husband. I supposed I could have simply removed the headset from my head and been a much happier camper, but the whole experience was too much for me. Logic and happiness were simply out of reach at this point. Nearing the last quarter of the race, when I was really trying to find my groove and press on with as much determination as I could muster…the whole soundtrack came winding down to a ridiculously soothing tempo. “Time after time….Time after time…” Well thank you Cyndi Lauper, but I need a bit more of a pick me up than this right now. It is not a time to being “Lying in my bed hearing a clock ticking!!” At about the 500 metres to the finish line mark, I could hear some familiar awesome beats drumming through my headset. “Gotta get that! Gotta get that! BOOM BOOM BOOM!...BOOM BOOM BOOM!” Hooray!! A breakthrough! He was forgiven! What a great way to end my race! I LOVED this song! Boom Boom Pow by the Black-Eyed Peas. What a great choice. This little engine that could was ready to finish strong…”BOOM BOOM BOOM!....BOOM BOOM BOOM!...” Yahooooo!!! This was fantastic!...”BOOM BOOM….CLICK!” What the?....NOOOOOO! The song cut-off. Yes. Stopped dead. 50 metres to go and nothing. Nada. I hobbled across the finish line in an over-heated, breathless, irritated heap. I tried not to meet the gaze of the concerned onlookers, as that would have just added to my complete and utter misery. Plus, if looks really could kill they would have gone up in a cloud of smoke upon meeting my gaze, so I spared them.
So did anything good come of this day? Well! I think it is only fair to mention that there was a prize draw…Weekends away! Electronic paraphernalia! You name it! And yes…as a matter of fact my number was displayed very sweetly on the winner’s board. With trembling hands I offered my ticket to one of the race organizers. With as much enthusiasm as he could muster, he handed me back a black men’s large cotton t-shirt with a gaudy 4 leaf clover on the front which read, “Are You Ready To Party?” Done. Thank you for completely destroying me in one fell swoop. The sick irony is that Eric loves the shirt…sports it around as if he has somehow EARNED it. I truly need to calm my rage within every time he has the nerve to wear it. After about a week, when I felt that I could speak with him again, I asked Eric what his seemingly sadistic motivations were. Apparently, I was SUPPOSED to start the iPod on Boom Boom Pow and then the rest would have all fallen into a logical sequence. Oh.
During my road to recovery, training was truly off and on as I had to take certain precautions and not push myself too hard as I re-entered the running arena. That said, I decided upon a race that was a little more obscure and did not involve chip timing. The last thing I needed at this point was to have my miserable results plastered all over the internet by some well-meaning race organizer. The first race I entered was a sweet little 5K called the Run and Walk for Huntington Disease. My decision to sign up for such a race proved that I had really matured as a runner – that I was really fine-tuning my running outlook and motivation. See, there were no shirts or medals to be given out at this one. You were simply running for a great cause, and for the love of running. No sweet swag bag. Ok. I guess that made sense somehow. The night before the race, the sick feeling of butterflies were overtaking my ability to get a good night’s rest. I had to drive all the way from Ajax to Sunnybrook Park, so that only added to my stress that I might actually not wake up and miss the damn thing. After about 4 hours of restless sleep, I awoke to the sound of my nasty alarm. As I reached to turn it off, I noticed that my little iPod was propped neatly beside it. Hmmm…I didn’t remember putting it there. Eric mumbled to me to make sure that I didn’t forget it for my race. Ok. I should really mention at this stage that real runners do not run with music plugged in to their ears on race day. It is not considerate of others, and really – you should be in-tune with the whole racing experience and with how you are feeling. That said, I chose to be horribly selfish that day. I really didn’t want to hear myself gasping miserably along a path and sounding as pathetic as I would be feeling. While in the car, I hit ‘play’ on the iPod…hmmm…there appeared to be music loaded on. I clicked along to get a sense of what was on it, but then felt distracted and tucked it away. It was affecting my pre-race mental prep. When I checked in for the race, they handed me my drawstring bag with a bottle of water and some other coupons that I was unlikely to use inside. I gently tipped the bag upside down hoping some fun, unannounced treasure would come tumbling out. No luck. At the start line, I noticed that people around were pumped up, CHARGED, truly excited about this race. I wasn’t. I was secretly dying inside. “Don’t forget to hit ‘start’ on your iPod at the beginning of the race” were Eric’s last words to me as I left that morning. “SSSHHHH – POP!” We were off! As requested, I hit start on the iPod. “I can’t break away!...I can’t break away!” Well thank you Eric. This was very encouraging. This was just the song that I wanted to be hearing as I was being elbowed and trod upon out of the start gate. Weren’t we just off to the most amazing, encouraging start! Oh yes! And it was by a band called Big Pig. Didn’t I just feel like a real winner at that moment...Along came the next song, ”Pour some sugar on MEEEEEE!” Huh? What’s this? Def Leppard? I didn’t get it….not to mention I hated that song. Sugar? What the…??? The next song was the soundtrack to the Transformers….the lyrics to this? “So let mercy come, and wash away – what I’ve done! I’ll face myself, to cross out what I’ve become!” This was torture, just plain wrong. I was married to a truly twisted individual. This was followed with, “G-L-A-M-O-R-OUS” by Fergie. For real?! Now?! At a time like this? Was this some sort of sick joke? By the title of the song itself, I began plotting on how to do away with my husband. I supposed I could have simply removed the headset from my head and been a much happier camper, but the whole experience was too much for me. Logic and happiness were simply out of reach at this point. Nearing the last quarter of the race, when I was really trying to find my groove and press on with as much determination as I could muster…the whole soundtrack came winding down to a ridiculously soothing tempo. “Time after time….Time after time…” Well thank you Cyndi Lauper, but I need a bit more of a pick me up than this right now. It is not a time to being “Lying in my bed hearing a clock ticking!!” At about the 500 metres to the finish line mark, I could hear some familiar awesome beats drumming through my headset. “Gotta get that! Gotta get that! BOOM BOOM BOOM!...BOOM BOOM BOOM!” Hooray!! A breakthrough! He was forgiven! What a great way to end my race! I LOVED this song! Boom Boom Pow by the Black-Eyed Peas. What a great choice. This little engine that could was ready to finish strong…”BOOM BOOM BOOM!....BOOM BOOM BOOM!...” Yahooooo!!! This was fantastic!...”BOOM BOOM….CLICK!” What the?....NOOOOOO! The song cut-off. Yes. Stopped dead. 50 metres to go and nothing. Nada. I hobbled across the finish line in an over-heated, breathless, irritated heap. I tried not to meet the gaze of the concerned onlookers, as that would have just added to my complete and utter misery. Plus, if looks really could kill they would have gone up in a cloud of smoke upon meeting my gaze, so I spared them.
So did anything good come of this day? Well! I think it is only fair to mention that there was a prize draw…Weekends away! Electronic paraphernalia! You name it! And yes…as a matter of fact my number was displayed very sweetly on the winner’s board. With trembling hands I offered my ticket to one of the race organizers. With as much enthusiasm as he could muster, he handed me back a black men’s large cotton t-shirt with a gaudy 4 leaf clover on the front which read, “Are You Ready To Party?” Done. Thank you for completely destroying me in one fell swoop. The sick irony is that Eric loves the shirt…sports it around as if he has somehow EARNED it. I truly need to calm my rage within every time he has the nerve to wear it. After about a week, when I felt that I could speak with him again, I asked Eric what his seemingly sadistic motivations were. Apparently, I was SUPPOSED to start the iPod on Boom Boom Pow and then the rest would have all fallen into a logical sequence. Oh.
So those are just some of the highlights…I could go on
forever, but I won’t. Don’t get me wrong. Yes, there is value in running. It
can be a wonderful life-longish kind of sport if done properly and if you treat
your body with respect. I have recently tried to take it up again, now that I
have a new dog to help keep me motivated…but that is another story. I have to
go now and check out the lineup of races for the balance of the year. Hopefully
they have improved the cut of the women’s shirts… ;)
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