Wednesday, February 28, 2007
On Running
I've never been a runner. In elementary school, when forced to participate in the Presidential Physical Fitness program, I "protested" by walking the mile rather than running it, reaching the finish line only seconds before the autistic boy. However, I've decided it's time to turn all that around.
At this writing, I can run just over a quarter of a mile before I have to stop and walk. In one session, I can run an entire mile and a little extra with some walking in between. It hurts, but only later. When you're actually doing it, it feels good, something I didn't think was possible. Your body hits a point where it decides that fighting you is getting nowhere, so it might as well just go along with you for a while. Your body doesn't worry; you'll pay in the morning, when you get out of bed and crumple to the floor in a pitiful heap, unable to stand for a full minute and a half.
With all of this comes an immense feeling of personal power, aside from the morning pain. I'm starting to feel that if someone was coming towards me with ill intent I might actually be able to run away from them and escape, rather than having to rely solely on my ability to fold myself into a ball and weep. I will weep no longer; I will run with an even gait and regular breathing, until I am at least a quarter of a mile away.
The only problem is that you can't run with your eyes closed. I don't know why I really want to do this, every time, but you end up running into fences and tripping over things.
I'm not sure how my dog feels about all of this running business. She seems to enjoy it, but last night she vomited twice on the track as we made our way around. I admit I felt oddly superior. I didn't puke, and I'm the one who's supposed to be out of shape.
At this writing, I can run just over a quarter of a mile before I have to stop and walk. In one session, I can run an entire mile and a little extra with some walking in between. It hurts, but only later. When you're actually doing it, it feels good, something I didn't think was possible. Your body hits a point where it decides that fighting you is getting nowhere, so it might as well just go along with you for a while. Your body doesn't worry; you'll pay in the morning, when you get out of bed and crumple to the floor in a pitiful heap, unable to stand for a full minute and a half.
With all of this comes an immense feeling of personal power, aside from the morning pain. I'm starting to feel that if someone was coming towards me with ill intent I might actually be able to run away from them and escape, rather than having to rely solely on my ability to fold myself into a ball and weep. I will weep no longer; I will run with an even gait and regular breathing, until I am at least a quarter of a mile away.
The only problem is that you can't run with your eyes closed. I don't know why I really want to do this, every time, but you end up running into fences and tripping over things.
I'm not sure how my dog feels about all of this running business. She seems to enjoy it, but last night she vomited twice on the track as we made our way around. I admit I felt oddly superior. I didn't puke, and I'm the one who's supposed to be out of shape.
