It has begun! The first day of my running career has begun, really, under duress. Oh mind you it's self-inflicted duress, so don't feel bad for me or anything (OK, maybe just a little...). Here' the story....
Several months back, my husband and I are discussing a fun run (they lure you in with the whole "fun" part), and he said he heard about this thing called the Warrior Dash from a friend and his wife who were considering signing up. I had heard about it, too, and it looked absolutely hilarious on the website. Basically, it's an all out, wacky obstacle course/run for adults, finished off by awesome local bands playing all day at the finish, and a beer garden. What could possibly be more fun than that? I mean you belly crawl in mud, jump fire and climb hay bales - just a sampling of the Warrior Dash activities that sound perfectly suited for middle-aged delusional weekend warriors like myself. So we signed up with this couple (with the plan for the manly men to go all out, and us sensible ladies to run at a comfortable pace without dislocating anything or vomiting) and then subsequently duped 2 more couples to run the Warrior Dash with us. I remember saying things like, "We've got lots of time to train" and "It's going to be so much fun!" All of that is very hazy at this point and I'm wondering if that really was my voice, but the reality is now I am up to the point where I am supposed to train. OK, I'm well beyond the point where I am supposed to begin training. The training is on like Donkey Kong.
After a meeting today, I stopped by my friend Andrea's house (she and her husband are one of the other couples we convinced to run Warrior Dash with us, probably over at least a few glasses of a nice red blend...). She and I were discussing our lack of confidence in being able to run 3.5 miles while also completing obstacles involving water, ropes, barbed wire, fire and climbing. I hadn't run since high school. She was having a hard time keeping pace with a friend of ours when they last ran together (at least she had run in the last 2 decades - me? Not so much...). Mind you, the other friend Andrea was training with runs half marathons and crazy things like that. I told her to run with me! I run like a Grandpa. No disrespect, I KNOW there are awesome Grandpas out there who could leave me in the dust 10 yards (OK, 10 feet) off the starting line, but I'm talking Lipitor takin', bad knees from college football havin', gets up at 4:30 a.m. to put the coffee on kinda Grandpa runnin'. That's my speed. Slighty more than a walk, but definitely not what most people would call a "run". So she said, "Show me." In my sensible black patent flats, trouser jeans, shrug and full bling, I ran (read: "Grandpa ran") through her kitchen. She said, "OK - I think I can do that!" She in her leopard flats, and I in black patent, we did 2 full laps of Grandpa Runnin' through her kitchen, to the entry, through the dining room and down the hall. We looked awesome - and by awesome, I really mean pee your pants, rolling on the floor, someone must have gotten these women on Candid Camera awesome.
We paused in her kitchen to discuss our success and new found love for running our way. We were confident. Bold. Warriors in the making! And we were out of breath. Collapsing into laughter, and winding that up with a yawn, we declared we would run - and cheer each other on, because we HAD to train for this event. Vomiting in public is so tacky and wheezing is not attractive, especially when there is the definite possibility of aspirating mud, so train we will. I left, promising Andrea I would run today and text her when I was done.
Knowing my propensity for welching on any exercise commitment, she texted me not long after I left, and attached a picture of her tired, pink, sweaty post-run face and told me, in no uncertain terms, that I'd better get out there and she wanted a picture of my sweaty, pink post-run face, too. I owed her that much. I mean, we were now Grandpa Running partners - a bond stronger than blood and usually forged with a Cosmo.
Begrudgingly, I donned what I deemed looked most like running clothes and took off. My sweet little neighbor boy called from across the street, "She's jogging!" Praise that little boy - even HE said I looked like I was doing something resembling running! With headphones tucked firmly in my ears, I took off for the asphalt jungle with AC DC rockin' my first steps.
If anything can get me through running, it's music. It's really funny that I have had a "Fire It Up" playlist on my IPod for over 2 years and only ever listened to it in the car. Let's hope these upbeat tunes I picked an eternity ago will really do their job or this could end badly, probably with me consoling myself with a donut. If I can make it through roughly 6 songs and remain upright and conscious, I know I've run about 20 minutes, which is exactly what my other seasoned runner friend (who I also suckered into the Warrior Dash) told me to do. "Start there and build - you'll be fine", says the marathon runner to the dough girl. 3 minutes in, I have a cramp in my side. Potato salad and chicken sandwich for lunch be damned! I was running (to the best of my knowledge), so I ignored it. By the time Nine Inch Nails came on, the cramp was gone and I didn't stop running or pass out, so I considered that my first personal running victory. I pressed on.
The next block ahead I was greeted by a clearly disgruntled Public Works employee who was mowing the lawn. He gently rolled his eyes as I passed because he had to pause the riding lawn mower for a few seconds so I could get out of his way. I smiled, even waved, and pressed on. Look at me!! I'm the happy running girl!!
By the time I reached my first big turn in the giant suburban rectangle I was making, I was feeling like I could see why people actually enjoy this wild thing called "running". Then I began my ascent of a long, gradual hill. A third of the way up, I was giving myself a little pep talk - NIN was still going, I was really making progress and I was too far from the house to give up now. Half way up, I was cursing exercise, Jack LaLane and everyone who said this would be "so much fun!" (wait didn't I say that in February?!?). Two thirds of the way up, I needed a breather. I checked my watch and I had already gone 12 minutes!! Happy running girl was back. I walked for exactly 60 seconds - no more, no less.
I started running again, and, ironically, the next song on the IPod was "You Dropped A Bomb On Me". I laughed to myself thinking, "That's what my body is saying to me right now." My lungs and legs never saw this coming. My quads and calves were hurling words at my psyche that would make a trucker blush. They were all talking their sweet talk, "C'mon, Nick! Stop this foolishness while we're all still friends and intact! Let's just mosey on home for a cookie and a nap. Be sensible, woman!" In spite of the temptation, I silenced the Sirens hiding in the cellulite and I pressed on.
The blessed turn on to 91st brought a wonderful breeze and the beginning of a light drizzle (I KNOW! In the Pacific NW in June! SO WEIRD!). I could see the home stretch and felt renewed. I pressed on to the last trip through a side street, down a big hill (jogging this was a risk because my legs were feeling a little less than stable at this point), and into my neighborhood. I made it home and even ran up my driveway, hit my stopwatch - BAM! 24:07. Can I get a "WOOT! WOOT!" I ran! I ran! I really, really (Grandpa) ran! And I didn't die, throw up, wheeze, or dislocate anything! Success. A warrior in training.
I proudly took a picture of my pink, sweaty, exhausted face and texted it to Andrea declaring, "Grandpa Runners Unite!" And here we are...
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