Becoming a runner... again.

I woke up this morning with the intent to go to the gym.  I had even packed my gym bag and set aside my workout clothes before bed last night to help motivate me for when my clock radio started blaring.  Nothing like walking up to KFAN's The Power Trip, right?  Well, see I had this bright idea to watch AMC's The Walking Dead right before bed last night and had dreams about sports-writing and zombies all night long, leaving me less than amped when it was time to get up this morning.  A few too many snoozes and suddenly my time at the gym was gone.

Luckily, when I finally rolled out of bed, weather-dot-com informed me that it was a balmy 52 degrees outside leaving me with no excuse but to throw on my running shoes and head out to the nature conservatory down the road.

I've never been a runner.  When I was in high school, I decided on numerous occasions that I wanted to really get in shape and would take up running--I'd last a mile before I would be walking home, defeated by something that seemed so easy in my head.

Two years ago, I convinced my older sister that we should run our hometown's annual half-marathon.  She spent three months training for the 13-plus miles.  I, on the other hand, ran six miles two days before the race, deciding that I would just be extra-motivated on race day.  See, runners were alloted 3 hours on the course and if you didn't finish, a truck came by and drove you back into town-- and I truly believed that in order to avoid the pure embarrassment that came with getting picked up by the truck, I'd get my butt across that finish line well within the 3-hour limit.

My sister and I both completed the race, something I'm sure my parents were surprised by.  It wasn't exactly fun but it wasn't torture.  Once I got passed mile 8 (the farthest I'd ever run), this competitive inkling popped into my head and for the first time during the whole day, I really wanted to finish the race.

In January, my best friend convinced me to run the half-marathon again.  Like me, she wasn't a runner but--being the most type-A control freak I know--she promised she'd push me to train for the race, considering she knew how my last attempt at race preparation had gone.

Ironically, it ended up being the other way around.  She got me out running but it was me that had to push her on our long runs--hitting 8, 10, 12 mile jaunts up and down Summit Avenue in St. Paul--when she wanted to quite after two.  We trained through ran and snow, gave up Twins tickets to get in long runs--even stayed in on Friday nights to ensure successful Saturday a.m. runs.

We had made a pact that on that April race day we'd stay with each other and even when the hail started pounding us and the wind nearly blew us over, we pushed along crossing the finish line in 2:15.26--almost ten minutes faster than my time the year before.

Of course, I stop running immediately after the half.  The weather got nice, I got busy, and when I had time, I wanted to be on patio with a drink in hand or enjoying the new Target Field.  Over the summer, I ran here and there--mostly when I was at the cabin and needed to get away from my family for a bit.

That's why this morning was such a challenge.  It was only four miles but it may have been the hardest four miles I've ever run.  And as I stretched in my driveway--underneath the heavenly November sun--I was so mad at myself for basically losing everything I had spent last winter training so hard for.  For the first time in my life, I had become a runner and I had just let it go.

My life doesn't leave much room for free time right now.  And while I wouldn't have it any other way, I'm recommitting myself to my 'running'--even if it means 10 p.m. trips to the gym to score a little treadmill time.  And while I'm sure I'll run my third half-marathon this April, I'm thinking I might even push myself to try a full--as long as there is a truck willing to pick me up mid-course if I want.  For 26 miles, I think it's okay.