Running Away

It may that time of year(at least in the USA) when LOTS of people are running - running marathons, 5Ks, charity miles.  Some are even running just to run, tracking their miles on GPS devices and pedometers and posting on the internet for all the world to see.  And then there's me, the anti-runner. 

 I just don't get it, and believe me, I've tried. 

Running to me is like torture, the before (putting in those sturdy heavy running shoes), the during (getting through that first mile when my body tries it's hardest to get me to stop), and the after (when my knees and hips are throbbing and my shins have the "splints").

You might wonder why I'm even bothering to talk about it if this is how I feel, but truth be told, I've always wanted to BE a runner.  I want to be that person you see every morning, no matter the weather, that runs by.  That person who dons a number and runs a race to the finish line.  I want to "place in my age group" and have "a time".  Yet, when I attempt to run, I feel as if the dentist would be a more pleasant option.

The crazy thing is, I actually can run.  There's been a few times in my life that I thought maybe I was crossing that threshold into the runner's world.  I bought expensive shoes, made a schedule, and ran out the door every morning, rain or shine.  I ran five days a week, about 25 miles on average. And I still hated every stride.  Apparently my body did too, as my knees and hips started to feel the stress. I felt like the tin man in need of a good oil job. Yet I persevered.  I wore out a pair of shoes and needed to replace them. Well, surely at this point, I could call myself a runner.  No, I was just stubborn ...and determined to make running a part of my life.  After all, It's un-American not to run.  Why am I lacking the Forest Gump gene?  

It's taken a year+ in Brazil, (where at times, running has been my only option for cardio), to finally give in....I am never going to be a runner. Yesterday I gave it one last try. I shoe'd up, headed down to the treadmill at the gym and hit the belt.  1.6 miles in, I felt like I was walking, no strain on my lungs, knees, hips or shins.   By mile four, I felt like I could go all day.  I had found my groove and kept going until six.  The entire time, my mind was solving the world's problems, making my grocery list, planning my Summer in Michigan, writing a note to Camryn's teacher, and developing a cure for cancer.  And then it struck me, running allows my body to completely disconnect from my brain.  I think this is what runner's call "getting into the zone".  My feet go, my body keeps breathing, and my mind travels to far away places.  

Now it all makes sense.  I've spent years trying to be in the moment. Running takes me away.  Luckily, in Brazil, I've found my love of dance. It forces me to be aware of my body and what each part is doing.  The minute my mind wanders to the grocery list, I've missed a transition and am going left when I should be going right.  I love Pilates for the same reason, as most of what is happening in your body needs to start with your mind.  

Yes, I'll never be a runner.  I won't be getting in the zone anytime soon and you won't see me running by your house in the early morning rain.  Instead, I'll be busy perfecting the Samba, trying to get that right hip to go opposite of the left shoulder while keeping my head and neck  straight ahead.  

Wherever my body is, my mind will be also.  

I finally get it, Forest.  Some of us were born to run... and some of us were born to dance.