"You have to wonder at times what you're doing out there. Over the years, I've given myself a thousand reasons to keep running, but it always comes back to where it started. It comes down to self-satisfaction and a sense of achievement."~Steve PrefontaineNow it is time to go out for my long run.
4.9.10
Quotable ::: Prefontaine
Plast'o' from the Running Past'o'
Mom is in a cleaning kick. In the last week my old bedroom that has not been touched in the nearly decade since I went off to college, is the sudden object of her obsession. Yesterday I walked into my apartment to find eight massive black garbage bags filled with my childhood possessions lined up in my kitchen. I contemplated changing my lock, but remembered that she feeds my cats when I am out of town and leaves me yummy treats as surprises and decided to just let it go.
While I spend the better part of the evening emptying out bags to clear a path to my refrigerator (note to self -- highly effective diet plan) I also came across several treasures. One of which was in the same frame I was presented during my senior year of high school.
It was a collage of photos the underclassmen collected over the season and presented at our awards banquet. They had a hard time finding photos of me because I am a tad camera shy, especially when you throw me into one of our skimpy high school running uniform. As a result, most were just random left over shots. The one "good photo" is the goof ball one in the middle that we took at a regional meet on a golf course.
But I love it nonetheless. It reminds me of so many memories, the pain after hard practices, the joy improving over the course of the season. The feeling of belonging.
Running brought together a group of teenagers who most likely would not have come together in any other instance. With a graduating class of roughly 500 students, and a school with about 2000, the odds of this group coming together is nearly unimaginable.
This morning I am going to challenge myself to be even better than that young woman in those photographs. 12 miles scheduled, and it is going to be a chilly morning. Last week we were reaching into the 90's and now it is going to feel like the low 40's when I start me run tomorrow morning.
Looks like I am going to be digging out the underarmour tonight. Love me some Midwest cool runnin'!
3.9.10
Mingling with the Gym Buffs
The weather is recking havoc on my run schedule. A little light rain I can work with, but as a general rule I do not like to take on thunderstorms. As a runner I like stats, graphs, anything that helps to track my progress. I believe in the power of well executed statistics. So when the U.S. National Weather Service tells me the odds of being struck by lightening in my lifetime are 1 in 6250, I pay a little attention.
And I figure my average is higher since I run outdoors and the stat encompasses the couch potatoes and gamers who perpetually live in doors and pull the number down.
While the last few days have been threatening with severe weather I have moved my workouts indoors and added in some strength training.
Which brings me to the gym buffs.
I have never been a tiny gal. Even at my peek physical form in high school, I had some meat on my bones. On an all girls team I did not necessarily stick out, but I did not have the average teenage physic.
By my astute *cough* statistical analysis, about 85% of the people that workout at the gym while I am there are male. And not just any breed of male, manly men. The kind of men that talk to the hair on their chest and encourage it to grow. The kind of men that crush beer bottles with their fists (note, not cans, but glass bottles). The kind of man that can bench press me and my extra pudge without even batting an eyelash.
It is always with some trepidation that I enter the gym for my workout, because by my outward appearance I always feel like I am being judged. When I walk in with my Peto Bismol pink shirt and frou frou pony tail there are side glancing stares and raised eyebrows. The men pound on their chests a bit and let out grunts to show that this is their territory, and I am merely a visitor.
My little chubby behind wattles over to the treadmill to warm up for a couple miles. Any longer on the dreadful thing and I contemplate taking a dumbbell to it. Of course a couple minutes after I start the thing I am flanked by two runners who push up their speed to seven minute pace miles after glancing over and seeing that I am merely at a 9:30 pace, in order to show their awesomeness. They jump off after a mile and hold back their wheezes until they think they are out of sight.
At least I imagine their wheezing and chalk that up to my own awesomeness as an endurance athlete.
I finish up my run on the devil treadmill and scurry through the gym and out into the open track area for some stretches and ab workouts. There is a girl who cannot be more then 12 years old out there and I think she looks adorable in her little purple tank and pigtails. Then she drops to the floor and starts pounding out push ups like she is in the Navy. Her military precision is intimidating. I lower my head in defeat and retreat to the back weight room.
It is quieter in here. The bulk of the serious gym buffs are out by the free weight section, so I have the standard machines to myself for a bit. A couple other guys come in and I hold my breath expecting more judgment. But then I notice they are like me, slightly skittish and trying to stay out of the eye of the more serious weightlifters.
I finish up my arm and leg circuit and know it is time. The final workouts for the day are the free weights, and it is time to come face-to-face with the gym buffs. When I enter the main room I am meet with the worst possible scenario.
The power lifters.
These are the ultra gym buffs. They compete all over the country, and I know a couple of them are world champions in their weight class. Not only can they bench press me and my flub, they can do it standing one handed and dancing a jig.
"Hi Clarkie!"
Oh, and they know me too. So I cannot just hid in the back and go through my reps, I have to walk over and engage them in polite conversation. To be fair, they are pretty cool people who really work well together and encourage each other. They look like they belong here at the gym, because they do.
And so do I.
We chat a bit, I let them get back to their massive weights, and I go grab my little ten pounders. It is then that suddenly something in the gym drastically changes.
Everyone stops looking at me funny. They just acknowledge me and go on with their workout. I am almost positive it is because the power lifters who are the kings and queens of the gym have shown me their favor. But I also want to think that it is my confidence in myself that I exude changes their view on me. Whatever it is, I am thankful for acceptance.
Thanks to the weather, I will probably be back there again tonight and postponing my long run until tomorrow. Here's hoping that newfound grace follows me through.
And I figure my average is higher since I run outdoors and the stat encompasses the couch potatoes and gamers who perpetually live in doors and pull the number down.
While the last few days have been threatening with severe weather I have moved my workouts indoors and added in some strength training.
Which brings me to the gym buffs.
I have never been a tiny gal. Even at my peek physical form in high school, I had some meat on my bones. On an all girls team I did not necessarily stick out, but I did not have the average teenage physic.
By my astute *cough* statistical analysis, about 85% of the people that workout at the gym while I am there are male. And not just any breed of male, manly men. The kind of men that talk to the hair on their chest and encourage it to grow. The kind of men that crush beer bottles with their fists (note, not cans, but glass bottles). The kind of man that can bench press me and my extra pudge without even batting an eyelash.
It is always with some trepidation that I enter the gym for my workout, because by my outward appearance I always feel like I am being judged. When I walk in with my Peto Bismol pink shirt and frou frou pony tail there are side glancing stares and raised eyebrows. The men pound on their chests a bit and let out grunts to show that this is their territory, and I am merely a visitor.
My little chubby behind wattles over to the treadmill to warm up for a couple miles. Any longer on the dreadful thing and I contemplate taking a dumbbell to it. Of course a couple minutes after I start the thing I am flanked by two runners who push up their speed to seven minute pace miles after glancing over and seeing that I am merely at a 9:30 pace, in order to show their awesomeness. They jump off after a mile and hold back their wheezes until they think they are out of sight.
At least I imagine their wheezing and chalk that up to my own awesomeness as an endurance athlete.
I finish up my run on the devil treadmill and scurry through the gym and out into the open track area for some stretches and ab workouts. There is a girl who cannot be more then 12 years old out there and I think she looks adorable in her little purple tank and pigtails. Then she drops to the floor and starts pounding out push ups like she is in the Navy. Her military precision is intimidating. I lower my head in defeat and retreat to the back weight room.
It is quieter in here. The bulk of the serious gym buffs are out by the free weight section, so I have the standard machines to myself for a bit. A couple other guys come in and I hold my breath expecting more judgment. But then I notice they are like me, slightly skittish and trying to stay out of the eye of the more serious weightlifters.
I finish up my arm and leg circuit and know it is time. The final workouts for the day are the free weights, and it is time to come face-to-face with the gym buffs. When I enter the main room I am meet with the worst possible scenario.
The power lifters.
These are the ultra gym buffs. They compete all over the country, and I know a couple of them are world champions in their weight class. Not only can they bench press me and my flub, they can do it standing one handed and dancing a jig.
"Hi Clarkie!"
Oh, and they know me too. So I cannot just hid in the back and go through my reps, I have to walk over and engage them in polite conversation. To be fair, they are pretty cool people who really work well together and encourage each other. They look like they belong here at the gym, because they do.
And so do I.
We chat a bit, I let them get back to their massive weights, and I go grab my little ten pounders. It is then that suddenly something in the gym drastically changes.
Everyone stops looking at me funny. They just acknowledge me and go on with their workout. I am almost positive it is because the power lifters who are the kings and queens of the gym have shown me their favor. But I also want to think that it is my confidence in myself that I exude changes their view on me. Whatever it is, I am thankful for acceptance.
Thanks to the weather, I will probably be back there again tonight and postponing my long run until tomorrow. Here's hoping that newfound grace follows me through.
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