Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

In light of giving relationship advice to a friend and a great article by Kristin Armstrong in Runner's World, I have to think about my short-term (but too long-term in my eyes) break up with running.

The doctor said I probably have tendonitis, recommended an x ray, MRI, an ortho appointment, more yoga, and physical therapy. I have the first one out of the way, the MRI is probably coming (waiting on insurance, naturally), the ortho appointment is Tuesday, yoga's no big deal, but the PT, that's going to take... weeks. Ugh.

My doctor also reminded me that I'm not 20 years old any more (FYI, I'm approaching 27 at a pretty good clip). I have feet issues. Stretching and flexibility issues. And, now, ankle tendon issues.

The article made me think about relationships and how some of them can translate to running...

Example: A friend of mine has a lot going on. Probably bit off more than he can chew.
Running: Someone like me who has too many racing endeavors.

Example: A single friend who thinks everyone has a significant other, except for him.
Running: Everyone out running when I can't.

Example: Breaking up to see other people.
Running: Stopping running to try other sports.

Example: Two people who just can't seem to meet each other on the same level, having difficulty understanding each other.
Running: Having inconsistent or bad runs (aka, heavy in their running shoes)

Example: Charlie Brown and the Redheaded Girl
Running: No matter what you try or how hard, you can't catch that runner who is leaving you behind.

Example: Trying to impress a guy/girl and always coming up short.
Running: Training for certain races and not making it. (For us, last year's marathon).

Example: The bad boy/girl you should probably stay away from but can't.
Running: The race/distance that kicks your butt every time, and you keep coming back for more.

Example: Swingers.
Running: Triathletes.

Winning Over a Crowd In One Easy Step

My husband will be the first to admit I'm crazy. And he'll admit he's crazy. But tonight, I actually got called crazy in public.

Scene: Urban Flats, cute little restaurant, with a Jacksonville Zoo "Wild Things" fundraiser attended by the UVa Club of Jacksonville.

Random Girl: "I'm bummed my friends can't make it but Tuesday's not good for any of them."
Me: "Tuesday's like the only day that's good for me."
Random Girl: "Oh yeah? What do you do?"
Me: "I'm training for a marathon. Monday and Wednesday are my running days."
Random Girl: "A marathon? That's just crazy!"
Random Girl's Husband: "How far is a marathon?"
Me: "Twenty-six point two miles."
Random Girl: "Wow."

So after I explain length of training, Vegas terrain and weather, weekly mileage, how far I actually run before I run 26.2 miles, etc, I adjourn back to the bar to get another glass of wine and tell Billy about what happened. We talk to a few more random folks (I tell the "War Eagle" story to a girl who wasn't sure what Auburn's official mascot is - Tigers, people, tigers) and we say our goodnights. I stop by the table where Random Girl, Random Girl's Husband, and three other girls were sitting. As we were saying bye and we'll see them at the next event, the whole "crazy runner" thing starts up again. We talked about the Gate River Run (one of the girls was a volunteer), and the lone (novice) runner at the table talked about how good it felt to run. This made me think:

Sanity is so overrated. And with that, I give you my new header quote (see above. Way above.)

Thoughts on Running

I wish I'd written this down on Sunday during or after the race. But I was to obsessed with not dying.

I am a terrible runner. Slow. Easily distracted. Goofy Fuel Belt. But I love it. I'm not winning any money anytime soon... in fact, they're pretty much taking my money and allowing me to cause myself pain and momentary misery, but it's all worth it...

I am a masochist. I dig the pain. Sore back, sore hips, blisters, sunburn, swelling my shoes to their limit. I like feeling like I got up and did something worthwhile with my day. Lots of people don't have leg strength, strong muscles, nerves to tell them that things hurt... some even legs at all. I'm so glad God gave me all of that, it'd be almost wrong not to push them to their limits.

I am a voyuer. I like to watch. Speed, form, muscles moving, sweat dripping, feet leaving the ground and returning, arms pumping, abs turning... the human body is amazing.

I am all about the camraderie. We're an elite group, those of us who consider it the greatest sport of all to achieve so much without any equipment aside from our shoes. That the magic lies not in the bat, the club, the engine, the ice, the ball... but in the ability to put one foot in front of the other with determination, that the only way to win is to get back home.

I have always been a vain fan of pedicures. I loved my pretty, shiny red toenails. But like a badge of honor, my blisters, scars, and broken toenails remind me that I am tough, and I can go and go and go and go in a way those pretty red toenails only dreamed about.