Running from De-Feet

It is seldom that I am forced to admit defeat. However, after six months, I am officially un-running. Six months ago, I was a beginner. Full of possibility and promise and determined to prove to myself that I could run 5K if I really, really wanted to badly enough. Now, six months later, I am confident in my ability to run 3miles if I really want to (which I still don't). And if I know I could run 3 miles, I'm darn sure I could run 5K. I can run farther than I ever have in my life. I have lost not a single pound, which doesn't really bother me because it wasn't the point to begin with, but it does seem as though loss of at least a little poundage should be a delicious by-product of all that sweat and tears, doesn't it? But, no matter.

I am somewhat horrified to admit this, but I have actually grown to enjoy running the tinsiest little bit. I can honestly say that I have never experienced a runner's high. Runner's exhaustion? Yes. Runner's pain? Yes. Runners irritation? Yes. No runner's high, though. What I have gotten out of it, is an enjoyment of being by myself with my music turned up, knowing that when I am finished, I will have done my duty to myself for the day. No little voices in my ear (not that I don't love those little voices). No dishes to wash. No phones ringing.

I even developed a purpose to running. I ran for One Fish. I even challenged her to a race one day (after I put up with a sufficient amount of trash talk and laughter from her about Mommy "running.") We determined to see who could run farther- not faster. I KILLED her little muscular gymnasts body. I was like the Energizer bunny. The tortoise to the hare. The little engine that could. It wasn't pretty and it involved lots of huffing and puffing and sweat, but I was determined to win and win big because I wanted her to remember losing an endurance race to her 36 year old mother. When she is 36 (or 26, or 16), I want her to remember that she is from a line of tough-as-nails women and that she's one too. It's not that no other mommies run. Lots and lots of the mommies I know are beating the pavements. Faster and harder and longer than I am. But, running is not something she'd seen me do before. I wanted her to know that I could. WE could. Whenever and however we wanted. I wanted her to know that I kick ARSE and I finish the job when I put my mind to something. And, I'm not about the business of raising a wimpy chick.

I have read the magazines and taken the advice of pros and seasoned runners. I run for a bit and walk for a minute to give my joints a break. I bought the really good shoes. I stopped running hills and if I happen across one, I run up it and walk down it. I run slowly and never more than 2-3 miles. I am stronger for this and am looking forward to my next physical challenge.

I have also done terrible things to my hips. For months, I have been unable to turn over in bed or rise to a standing position without hip pain. At first I thought it was just protesting muscles. But, after this much time, a consult with a doctor and a massage therapist, I am convinced it is my body's way of telling me to cut it out already. Those poor hips didn't start out with the benefit of good joint genes in the first place and have now carried babies for 27 months in utero and countless months after birth. And they're over it already.

So, while I have not yet run the 5K race I set a goal for, I am checking the box. I now know I could if I wanted to and am moving on. I will miss being able to cover as much ground in as little time. I will miss the feeling of complete exhaustion at the end of a "good" run. I will miss being able to say with confidence that I can run 2 miles. However, I will not miss the running itself. Running still sucks and it still hurts.

What's next? I'm considering a half-marathon. Would you laugh if I walked it?