The first thing I did when I started this blog was attempt to run. I wanted to be a runner. I’ve always envied those teeny girls just gracefully loping down the street in their cute outfits and colorful Nikes.
But running at 300+ pounds? Ah, yeah. No. More like shuffling my feet while wheezing, huffing and puffing, and generally jiggling about. It’s uncomfortable, to say the least.
And as I’ve lost weight, it hasn’t become any easier. Sometimes it just plain hurts my body, or I can’t get my mind to stop focusing on how hard it is to breath. But mostly, running for me is difficult (probably) because I don’t do it consistently. For a few weeks, I’ll be determined to tackle it and breakthrough that barrier…but then I don’t make progress. I can’t jog more than eight minutes at a time. And so I move on. I go to Boot Camp, I take up cycling. I don’t run. This summer, I’ve been focusing on just moving my body more consistently and trying new things, like my Yoga Challenge.
But then I go and I sign up for not one but three 5K races. THREE! I had a goal to run five races this year, and apparently, I’m actually going to accomplish that goal. Imagine that.
The first race is in three weeks (holy geeze) and the second is the day after my birthday (wahoo!) in September. Thankfully the third is in January, so I have time, but…you guys! This sucks! I want to know: a) why can’t I just freakin’ run already? Plenty of heavier people do! Why can’t I? I used to be an athlete, I used to run all the time, and b) What was I thinking?!
I’ve done 5K’s before, this is true (see above). But I’m sick of being slow. I’m sick of watching my friends and family finish in, like, 26 minutes and then they have to wait around for my dragging butt to cross at least a good ten minutes later. It’s so obnoxious.
And I hate the pressure a race puts on you—or, really, the pressure you put on yourself because of a race. For me, the pressure cycle progresses as such:
- I am determined to be a runner! I can do this!
- I sign up for a race.
- Said race starts to approach, so I start running.
- I nearly pass out after a pathetic 3 minutes of “running” (I swear I walk faster than I run…is that possible?).
- I get mad at myself for sucking so bad. Worst case scenario: I go on a classic two-week food binge and don’t move from in front of the TV.
- Unconditioned, I hobble through the finish line: proud, but determined to do better next time.
- I try to “do better,” fail, get frustrated…and the cycle repeats.
Seriously, I’m getting agitated and angry with myself just writing this…
I have nothing else to say on the topic other than I truly loathe running, I want to love it, and I’m going to keep trying to do just that. I’ll probably again get stuck in the above cycle at some point, but if it hasn’t defeated me over the past 18 months, it’s not gonna now. Eff that noise. I’ll beat it.