One thing I haven’t been doing for the past 2 months - not with any consistency anyway - is running. There have been lots of excuses, some of them even rather legitimate sounding. First, there was the fact that it felt like winter was never going to end this year, which prompted many "It’s too cold to go running" statements. Then my mother had some unexpected health-related problems ("I’m too worried to go running"). Then Easter came. ("I’ve eaten too much chocolate to go running.") And then Bea Arthur died. ("I’m too depressed to go running.") You get the idea.
It's not that I stopped running altogether, but mostly I was averaging only about 2 runs per week, a far cry from my pre-winter schedule of 5 weekly runs. So,when April began to come to a close and the weather finally started warming up, I figured it was time to get the running shoes back on and hit the road. I had seriously slacked off, so with grim determination I vowed that the next few weeks would bring about a renewed me. So, meet that "renewed" Tom through my running log notes:
April 27th: Ran 4 miles, but took 2 walk breaks. Left calf is very sore and tired.
April 28th: Ran 5 miles. Much better. Leg still a little sore but loosened up. No problems.
April 29th: Didn't run today.
April 30th: Didn't run today.
May 1st, 2nd, 3rd and 4th: See April 29th and 30th.
Then, on May 5th I wrote: Need to run more consistently.
Um, gee, ya think?
I was becoming so accustomed to not running that when I did manage to get out, it felt like my whole body had turned to flab. With each step everything, everywhere was jiggling. It was like a Jell-o mold had come to life, strapped on a pair of Nikes and decided to terrorize the neighborhood. I had more shaking going on than the San Francisco earthquake. It was a bit too reminiscent of being that 14 year old boy who was once loudly referred to as "Butterball" by another kid.
But, something good did come out of the horror of starting to feel like that fat kid I used to be. Wanting to prove I could get back on some type of schedule and manage to get moving again, I quietly signed up to do a 4-mile race in Central Park on Mother's Day. I was determined to prove there was still some stamina left in my ever increasingly out of shape body. In preparation I ran on four days before the race, putting more effort into it than I had in months. The result? I'm thrilled to say that I managed to set my best race pace ever: 8 minutes and 39 seconds per mile. Take that, expanding waistline.
There seems to be life in the old boy yet.
