Running

While I was home for Christmas, I had lunch with a friend of mine who stated she was intending on running the Lake Geneva half-marathon in May.  She asked me and my friend Rosie (the one with the baby), if we would like to run with her. Rosie declined as a) She has a baby and b) She is having a second baby in March and c) I’m pretty sure she hates running.  I also hate running, but told her I would think about it.

The thing is I like the idea of running—there’s something awe-inspiring about people who have the endurance to run a marathon.  It’s romantic as in “ that which is marked by the imaginative or emotional appeal of what is heroic, remote, mysterious or idealized” (thank you Merriam-Webster.com). I would love to run a marathon sometime before I die, and I recently realized that between now and the time I die I will probably not get any younger.  It seems that time only moves in the forward direction, and I keep getting older, so if I really want to do this marathon thing, I should get on it.

Do not even pretend running isn't romantic.  Look at those bitches!  All athletic, showing their abs in forests and mountain ranges.  That is romance: sunsets and finish lines.

Thus, I’ve decided to train for this marathon. I know this goal is not only lofty, but perhaps verges into the crazy and/or impossible.  However, the Lake Geneva Marathon is excellent, because you can register the day of, and on the same day they offer a 5K, a 10K, a half-marathon, and a full-marathon.  If I am able to run 26.2 miles by mid-May, that would be amazing, and that’s my goal; but if I can run 13 miles by then or even 6, I would be fine with that.

Now the marathon training plan I started last week began with the assumption that I—prospective marathon runner-am able to run three miles.

Jacey’s Hypothesis Last Week: I can TOTALLY run three miles.

Jacey’s Reality: I cannot run three miles. 

As I thought back over my running career, I realized I had never in my life run even one mile.  During high school, when we were supposed to run the mile I would whip around the track twice ahead of every other girl in class (because I sprint like a motherfucker), but by the third time around I was walking, and panting, and cursing God.  My gym teacher told me to pace myself or something, but I quickly got impatient and quit listening to her… my gym teacher, I mean.  Where was I? 

Right!  I had never run a mile, in fact, the only thing I run with any consistency is late (and actually, I run late really, really well), I had never run a mile until today.  And in fact, today I ran TWO.  Two miles.  Now, I know all you runner-types are not terribly impressed, but I am proud.  Two whole miles…only twenty-four point two to go.  Oof.