The running shoes are new. My passion for running is also new...and possibly a hot trend for me for about another run...maybe. Some friends of mine run, and they think it's really cool. Like any normal person, I want to be cool in some form or another, and decided to add running to my list of personal passions.
I bought these beauties last night, caught in instinct after buying work boots for summer. Buying running shoes does not make you a runner. Shit, running didn't really make me a runner, and I found out quickly just how much I hate running after a half mile or so. -A half mile, I may add, that was mostly down hill. In no time flat, I was sweating, coughing and crying. If these were symptoms of a great run, and part of the joy my friends were finding...this activity was going to be a hard sell. BUT, I already bought these damn shoes, so I decided to press on, through the wind and driving rain. I tried to notice simple natural surroundings, but was most content running with my head looking straight down at my immediate path and new shoes pounding the pavement laying ahead of me. Also, by looking around at my surroundings, I was sure to notice more often the distance left ahead of me, that only grew shorter very slowly.
Walking became a natural part of my running. My heavy panting and coughing was sure to wake up innocent sleepers as I paused hands on knees. Bees Knees, that is.
I did not throw up, but came visibly close; hacking flem from the lung's lower portion. Cars slowed down when they passed me on their way to church and I waived them bye, to assure that I was not dying in this roadside manner. Manor. Roadside Manor. No, no, no...keep driving...I'll pull through.
Obviously I'm an amateur, and my initial thought was that maybe I shouldn't have bought the cheapest shoes that 'super shoes' had to offer. My training for a May marathon was going shitty as hell and I will no doubt be letting down the other 3/4 of my team...if they will still have me. But...this is what I do. I get all wrapped up in instinctive passions and disappoint the masses. I'm a natural.
By the mid point of my run, I felt the burn. I also felt foolish. 'Damn sure I looked stupid. I couldn't decide weather I wanted to wear my knit hat, or keep my hood pulled up. Running with out head protection was not an option...my scalp is very sensitive to weather...even when the going got sweaty, and I felt the need to run bare-headed...I quickly felt shiverish on the top and covered quickly. The knit hat felt good on my head, but was hot as hell. The hood let my body heat rise from my back and warmed my head and ears nicely, while keeping the rain off my stylin' hair, but...damn it was loud. The fabric of the jacket hood rubbed against itself with mild, gentle friction, and it was too much for me. There's a lot of noise in my head already when I'm out for a good run. I'm out here letting loose and blowing some steam, you know...I don't need this hood's racket slowing down my complex thought process. Surely other runners know what I'm talking about. If you don't run, then...well I feel sorry for you, because this is an elite club that I am now a part of for life and we have piles of issues that can only be understood from our point of view.
Yeah, the runner's burn was taking me over, but I was really looking for the high. I pressed on, awaiting a sense of euphoria to take me over. My vision was impaired slightly several times through sweat (tears?) in my eyes, but I was never quite 'stoned' by the run. 'Talk about disappointment.
Even though walking consumed some of my run time, I truly tried to push it in the last quarter. -Quarter mile, that is. My strides became longer and I found a rhythm in my breathing that allowed my cough to subside and I pulled in all the oxygen this engine could handle. Burn! Push!
The tears of sweat were running down my cheeks and I tasted them. I had not far to go now and saw my beer drinkin' neighbor pulling out of his driveway. Shit...-not that I care what anyone thinks, but...I wasn't really ready to go public with my running habit just yet. Shit...he would be sure to stop and give me an earful of shit if he recognized me. Shit. I reached back over my shoulder (in mid-stride, never losing my rhythm) and pulled my hood far over my head and it's edge to my brow. -A clever disguise? No. But a needed guise none the less. He passed and I pressed on...pushing, burning.
When my house finally approached, I envisioned myself passing the baton onto my marathon partner, and slowed my sprint (god knows this was no sprint) down to a jog, then a healing walk through the yard. I turned down offered water from our team's sponsor and looked to the horizon where my teammate ran. I cheered. I laughed and I cried.