Only the beginning of the insanity...

So I feel that in speaking of all this running business, I should offer up a disclaimer. I, in no way, shape, or form, really even consider myself an athlete. In fact, I find that it's extremely and unbelievably ironic that in 12 days (YIKES!!!!), I will be running a total of 13.1 miles...and that after running that, I don't intend on stopping there, my next goal being the full marathon. My reason for this being is that in all complete and total seriousness, I have always hated running (with an unnerving passion actually). In fact, I've hated sports in general. I was never ever the child you would pick first on you kick ball team. Actually, I was probably the one who opted out to go play with chalks on the side walk or finger paint. I hated all games that had to do with balls. Kickball, baseball, soccer, basketball, football. There really was no exception. In fact, the one sport I did partake in was figure skating, which I did for 8 years, and the reason I fell in love with it is because a.) you get to wear pretty costumes and b.) you get to go really fast with little physical exertion. Yep. Definitely the sport for me. As much as I hated games involving balls, though, there was one thing that I don't think I could possibly have hated more. I would've rather been subject to extreme torture. I think I would've chosen to eat a dozen worms, or have needles stuck into my body repeatedly than partake in this activity. I hated running. I remember playing tag with the neighborhood kids, and trying to devise ways I could run the absolute least possible it is to run while still not getting tagged. I had a number of techniques. The first and most obvious was the I was a base hoverer. While my friends all ventured across the back-yard, sprinted and turning and twisting away from the tagger, I stayed within a good 5 feet of the base at all times. That way, if the tagger did happen to come on over, it would only take me a couple seconds to spot her/him, and quickly jump back onto base. This generally worked until my friends started instituting "1 2 3 get off my father's apple tree" and the 10 (big) steps rule, which basically meant that once I got called off base, I could not longer hover. Then I implemented the "Time out!!!" trick. Once the tagger would get within tagging distance of me, I would scream, "TIME OUT!!!" and then act like I was going to say something extremely important. Then I would sprint to base and scream "TIME IN!" once I had a good enough head start. My friends felt that this was cheating and nixed this trick too. Pretty soon I just started developing strange and mysterious diseases that caused me to have to suddenly stop playing once it was tagged. I first developed exercise-induced asthma. When I would get tagged, I would do a short little sprint after someone, and then start coughing violently, throwing myself onto the ground and rasping out... "Can't...run...*cough cough*...asthma". Soon I "hyper-extended" my achilles tendon. I also developed a rare disease in which caused my red blood cells to become toxic and explosive, but only when running and that if I tried to run my legs would explode. I was pretty tricky.
Actually, running started for me when I decided I needed to start exercising. I started by running around the block. When I was done, I would be about ready to collapse. However, it was the sense of accomplishment, of being able to say I did it that kept me going. I remember one run in specific, it was dusk when I set out, and the night air was cool. I put my ear buds in and started around the block, but felt really good after I had completed that, and decided to keep going. Probably about 10 strides after I passed my house again after deciding to go farther, I regretted it, but I kept going. I had just gone through a pretty painful period of my life, and was recovering. I felt horrible, like crap, and the only thing I wanted to do was stop and turn around and walk home. My entire body said "Just quit. You can't do it" but I didn't. I kept running...and then something completely miraculous happened...I broke through the wall. Suddenly, I wasn't running anymore, I was flying, and the only thing I knew was God, me, and the pavement. I remember throwing my head back and laughing, and people probably thought I was crazy. I ran 2 3/4 miles that evening, which was a remarkable feat for a person who didn't even like to run across the backyard during tag.

Running isn't always like that. Running is really hard the majority of the time. I guess I run for the moments like I had on my evening run. Of the times when I'm flying because I know I did it.

The other day someone asked me why I decided to do a half marathon. He asked as if he were speaking to a crazy person. To me, running the half isn't really very crazy. A lot of people do. Marathons are a little crazy. Triathlons, kind of. Iron man competitions, crazy. 50 milers, 100 milers, those are brinking on insanity. Half marathons are just the beginning of the insanity. I was kind of lost for words. I guess I don't really know why I decided to do it. I just looked at him and answered, "Because I like running." He stared at me for a very long time, nodded his head, and said "Ok, then". Then he walked away.

He has no idea.