Yesterday at Citysports while rearranging the entire shoe stock room, a mind-boggling and tedious undertaking in and of itself, I was a little abraded yet nonetheless interested when a coworker of mine started talking about running. He said he would occasionally flat out run a mile as fast as he could and was satisfied with that. Not that I'm a running snob or anything, to each his own, but he then preceded to challenge me on my mile time and began to get a little hostile when I said I had absolutely no idea, which is the truth. He seemed absolutely beside himself that I had no idea, as though every 'serious' runner should know their mile time down to the fastest second. I was a actually a little put off by his questioning and I felt a little cornered, to say the least. I know he didn't mean anything by it, his personality is a little coarse to begin with, and I know I'm a sensitive person, but it really got me thinking.
I don't run for my fastest mile time, which is why I couldn't tell you what it is. I'm sure most of my friends could beat me at the mile because I'm not a sprinter, I don't claim to be one, and I don't train for that. What I DO do is go out and try to hold a 7:30 pace for as many miles as I can. Because that sudden onset of lactic acid and that feeling of simultaneously wanting to vomit and collapse just doesn't do it for me, I crave that slow, lingering exhaustion that comes only towards the end of a 12 mile run. I don't train for miles either, I don't just run a mile as fast as I can and then call it a day. I like to go out and not know how many miles I'm going to get in that day, I just run until I can't run any more (or I have to go to class.)
For me, running isn't something I just do to get it over with so I can eat my cupcake and not feel guilty about it, or so I can join the ranks of those who label themselves 'runners,' I do it because if I don't do it I don't feel right. My day doesn't feel complete. I don't feel myself. I feel like a lesser version of myself.
From the outside I might not look like a diehard marathoner, the type who's muscle legs protrude out from jeans, they look like they have less than 5% body fat and their skin is weather beaten from going out in rain, sun, snow, and wind. But I worked hard for every single muscle striation I have and every second I carve off my 5k time. And I crave it just as much.
No, I might not know my mile time, but I can describe perfectly the feeling I get from outsprinting the girl next to me at the end of a 10k in a triathlon. I know what its like to be at mile 23 of a marathon, when a 5k seems so short yet so long, and I know what it's like to sit on the sidelines injured at a race when all you want to do is be out there kicking asphalt. I've been there throwing up at track practice, cramping up on the Esplanade, and bonking in the middle of a long training run. I've felt that pain in your lower back you only get from hill repeats on the backside of Summit, and that kink in your knee you get from running the 2 miles downhill from BC on Comm Ave. I've spit, cramped, and gasped my way around the Charles so many times I know where every single crack in the pavement is located.
Everyone has to have a passion, something that keeps them going. Somewhere to escape when everything is going wrong, or something to do when everything is going right. Mine is running, and only other runners know what I know.
love love love,
me
Ps. If I had to guess, in case you were wondering, my mile time would be about 6:20. But who's counting?
I don't run for my fastest mile time, which is why I couldn't tell you what it is. I'm sure most of my friends could beat me at the mile because I'm not a sprinter, I don't claim to be one, and I don't train for that. What I DO do is go out and try to hold a 7:30 pace for as many miles as I can. Because that sudden onset of lactic acid and that feeling of simultaneously wanting to vomit and collapse just doesn't do it for me, I crave that slow, lingering exhaustion that comes only towards the end of a 12 mile run. I don't train for miles either, I don't just run a mile as fast as I can and then call it a day. I like to go out and not know how many miles I'm going to get in that day, I just run until I can't run any more (or I have to go to class.)
For me, running isn't something I just do to get it over with so I can eat my cupcake and not feel guilty about it, or so I can join the ranks of those who label themselves 'runners,' I do it because if I don't do it I don't feel right. My day doesn't feel complete. I don't feel myself. I feel like a lesser version of myself.
From the outside I might not look like a diehard marathoner, the type who's muscle legs protrude out from jeans, they look like they have less than 5% body fat and their skin is weather beaten from going out in rain, sun, snow, and wind. But I worked hard for every single muscle striation I have and every second I carve off my 5k time. And I crave it just as much.
No, I might not know my mile time, but I can describe perfectly the feeling I get from outsprinting the girl next to me at the end of a 10k in a triathlon. I know what its like to be at mile 23 of a marathon, when a 5k seems so short yet so long, and I know what it's like to sit on the sidelines injured at a race when all you want to do is be out there kicking asphalt. I've been there throwing up at track practice, cramping up on the Esplanade, and bonking in the middle of a long training run. I've felt that pain in your lower back you only get from hill repeats on the backside of Summit, and that kink in your knee you get from running the 2 miles downhill from BC on Comm Ave. I've spit, cramped, and gasped my way around the Charles so many times I know where every single crack in the pavement is located.
Everyone has to have a passion, something that keeps them going. Somewhere to escape when everything is going wrong, or something to do when everything is going right. Mine is running, and only other runners know what I know.
love love love,
me
Ps. If I had to guess, in case you were wondering, my mile time would be about 6:20. But who's counting?
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