Well, a couple of months ago, I wasn't sure about all of this. I've never referred to myself as a runner. I've always told people I was a beginner, learning to run. When you go to races, no matter the distance, there is such a wide range of people and ability levels. The front of the pack contains the stick thin crazy people. The people who were truly born to run, who appear to require little effort, the people we know we cannot catch. In the back, there is usually a group of walkers. These guys are not there to set any records. They are there for the experience, the cause, or because they are getting started. I sometimes envy this group because they don't appear to be putting a lot of pressure on themselves. They look like they are actually having fun, like they are not in pain.
Since I decided to learn to run, I have fallen in the middle. Even the middle has a wide variety of ability levels. I've considered myself a beginner, sometimes an advanced beginner, afraid to move ahead in the middle pack, not sure I could fit into this group. I get a lot of thigh chafing when I wear the short running shorts. I haven't run a sub 30 minute 5K. There are plenty of days when I feel like I've never run before and I struggle to finish the first mile. I've been looking for some evidence, some proof that I can call myself a runner. I think it happened today.
I went to the running store, where I still feel completely out of place, like the employees must be laughing when I leave. (That woman runs! HA HA!!) I went there to purchase a fuel belt. This is the funniest piece of running gear. It is a belt with mini water bottles attached so you don't have to carry water. I decided that since I was shooting for a nine mile run, I should have one of these. I didn't really want one, afraid that it would feel heavy, look ridiculous, and just basically irritate me. I actually considered driving my route and hiding bottles of water along the way in the brush along the sides of the road. Something told me that this plan may actually be more ridiculous than the belt. So I left the running store with a fuel belt, a stick of body glide (hey, maybe I can try the short shorts and not have chafing with this stuff!), and the impression that the guy wasn't laughing at me when I left.
The goal for today, with four mini bottles filled with G2 strapped to my waist, was nine miles. Nine is a scary number when you are just a beginner. What am I saying? FIVE is a scary number! But nine seems like a big deal. A crazy big deal. It's so close to ten. It's so far to run. Could I really do it??? Hell yes, I'm wearing a fuel belt, aren't I? A person who chooses to run 9 miles should finally be able to call herself a runner, especially if she is going to traipse around in this silly contraption.
For the first time ever, I found the first 5 miles to be totally bearable. I had no desire to quit. I kept a mantra in my head "nine is fine", and repeated it endlessly. The next couple were tough but I was entertaining myself by laughing each time I passed a place where I had planned to hide a water bottle in the absence of my fancy belt. The belt was great, by the way. At the start of mile 7, I was running through Arcade Acres, my childhood neighborhood. Umm. . . here's where it starts getting fun. I was crying because I never ran this road as a kid. I biked it, walked it, skipped it, played tennis on it but I never ran on it. I was listening to the song "The Club Can't Handle Me" and really felt like NO ONE could handle me right now.
I planned my last mile on the Northwest Trail because I have been enjoying it lately. One mile to go! But damn it. I am wearing a fuel belt, aren't I? I am a RUNNER today, aren't I? If I stopped at the ninth mile, I would still have a mile to walk home. What crazy runner with a fuel belt would actually do that? A woman with a fuel belt runs that tenth mile. And she did. Probably the best part was when I ran up behind a man on the trail and he said, "Oh, you scared me." My response? "I'm on mile ten, I can't stop now. I've never done this before." Because he cared? Not sure, but I'm pretty sure he saw my fuel belt. (How could he miss it?)
So, yeah, I'm bragging. I ran ten miles today. I'm doing a half marathon. I wear a fuel belt. This is the day. I am a runner. No non-runner could accomplish this. I'm walking into that running store with my head held high. I may have actually impressed my hard to impress husband. I've finally impressed myself. I AM a runner.
Did I mention the fuel belt?
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