On Tuesday, I went running for the first time in six months and wrote about it because that’s historically what people with blogs do when they’ve taken it upon themselves to do any kind of physical exercise for the first time in a seemingly long time. I ran all of two miles which seemed far longer a distance than any two miles I’ve ever run… or is it ran? I always get the two mixed up. But having run this particular route more times than I can remember I do, in fact, know it’s a hair over two miles but only by a hair, even without looking down at my running app.
Wednesday
Today, one day later, despite my legs screaming in sheer agony and soreness and a rather comical inability to walk properly down a flight of stairs without saying, “Oh that hurts. Ah. Ouch” and so on and so forth until I reach the landing, I chose to run yet another two miles.
A masochist endeavor really. “Would you like more pain?” “Yes, I’ll have another. Please and thank you.”
Reforming a running habit
I know that by doing what I’m doing I’m subconsciously or maybe this is a conscious effort, after all, I’m telling my body, “Body, this is a habit. You will form this habit. You will run despite not wanting to run because by running you are signaling to your body this is something you want to etch into the slender little grooves in your gray matter that of a daily habit and this is what must be done. Because you know yourself all too well and if you take a day off this early then you’ll take another day off because why not you know what’s another day?”
And your brain is feeling all the soreness in your body my body its body and is thinking, because it’s a brain and thinking is what brains do, “But your body my body our body, it’s so sore. It aches so very much.”
Because man am I sore.
I mean damn. I knew I wasn’t in running shape but I didn’t know I was this far removed from even what one could define as mediocre running shape. That I had this many muscles in my legs that had fallen idle and basically non-existent from physical activity since September even though I do walk and shoot basketball in my driveway everyday. But all in all, it’s really quite pitiful how bad my legs feel. In a way it’s a good feeling. Hurts so good because I’m not being a bum sitting around doing absolutely nothing which is a waste of life when living is meant for living and not sitting around twiddling your fingers or sitting on your behind wasting away precious bone mass by the minute.
Thursday
Another day has passed and the today from before is now yesterday and the new today is another day I will run again and I’m not entirely sure how far I will run today, but one mile is the minimum. I may shoot for two miles again. I’ll make the decision on my run because I’ll listen to my body and my body will tell me what is and what isn’t possible.
I set a goal this week of running 10 miles which may have been a touch too pie in the sky considering that I ran zero miles the week before and zero miles in the past six months before it. Had I started running again on a Monday and not a Tuesday, maybe the 10 miles would be feasible, but I got a late start on this whole I’m-a-runner-again situation and the week ends, according to my running app, at 11:59 PM on Saturday which means in order to pull off 10 miles, I must, at a minimum, run exactly two miles every single day:
2 miles: Tuesday
2 miles: Wednesday
2 miles: Thursday
2 miles: Friday
2 miles: Saturday
If I run less than two miles today, it means if I’m going to hit the 10 mile mark, I’ll have to pick up more mileage on another day; so if today is only one mile, if that’s what my body tells me is all I can muster, then either Friday or Saturday I’ll have to hit three miles and considering how very sore I continue to be, I’m not sure three miles is feasible. Three miles would’ve seemed like nothing a year ago but now it’s quite the mountain to climb and would, tendonitis awaiting, make more sense for next week when I’ve got some mileage under my belt and this doesn’t feel like a brand spanking new undertaking.
It’s also worth noting here the geography where I reside. It’s not flat. And while it’s not Colorado elevation by any stretch, I do live in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Mapping a route that is mostly level, aside from inclines on certain stretches, is doable. But then there’s that whole I’d like to inflict pain on myself mentality rearing its head again. I love running hills and steep inclines. For me, it doesn’t feel like a run unless my route is littered with hills and steep inclines. Something that pushes me and makes me think to myself while I’m doing it, “Holy crap. I can’t wait to reach the top.” Mostly level = yawn.
Setting realistic running goals
My running goal this week is 10 miles, but what about next week: do I repeat the same goal and then on the third week bump it up a notch to 12 or 15 miles? Right now, I’m taking a wait-and-see approach. I don’t want to overdo it and injure myself, even though 10 miles this week may be pushing it as is. In the past, I’ve said mileage isn’t important. I still agree with that. I think, by and large, the most important thing you can do is just run, even if it’s only a mile.
But I’m also acutely aware there is a sweet spot in terms of mileage for me to feel certain benefits that I’m after: namely, stress reduction. Killing the jerk as I call it. One mile doesn’t really kill the jerk. Two miles doesn’t either. That amount of mileage may tame the jerk for a few hours, but it doesn’t outright bludgeon to death the jerk living inside me. Killing the jerk usually takes a 5K distance (3.11 miles). If I run over three miles in a day, it’s pretty hard to rattle me emotionally or mentally. The ice cube has been melted. I repeat: the ice cube has been melted. The jerk living deep inside me is dead and all the world is better for it.
Anything above three miles is icing on the cake. If I hit five or six miles I’m basically high all day. Mellowed out. My favorite distance to run for about a decade was eight miles. You just hit a different level of consciousness once you get that high up in mileage. I’m sure a marathoner or ultramarathoner may think eight miles is nothing in the grand scheme of mileage and I don’t pretend to know what 20 miles or more, much less 26.2 or 100 miles, feels like. I can’t even fathom running that far, but aside from the unexpected bathroom breaks and what it does to your body physically over that distance, I would guess mentally or psychologically or whatever you want to call it, you’re just on another planet. Some Mork from Ork wavelength.
Nanu nanu.
They say the definition of “insanity” is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. And if I’m being honest with myself, and why not be honest with yourself, what I’ve doing over the past six months was meeting that definition head on. I knew I needed to get in better shape than I was but I was basically not doing enough of any one thing to make that happen. Too much idle time. Too much sitting around. Too much mindless leisure. Sure, I walk. Yes, I play basketball. I lift weights but nothing crazy. I’ve been beating on my punching bag Bob during the day more than usual. But I wasn’t doing one specific thing that achieves what running provides and that is a very good sweat and a very good sweat is something we all need to get the stress and the toxins and all the lingering bullspit out of our system.
I don’t want to lead a shoulda woulda coulda life at any stage of my life. How boring. I don’t even like sitting still. I need to move my body because if I don’t move my body all these different parts of my body start to ache — not from moving too much but from not moving enough at all. There is a correlation there. God wouldn’t have given us arms and legs if he didn’t want us to move them in all sorts of different directions so why even be sedentary other than to sleep? If I could afford one, I’d buy a treadmill or cycling desk for work and look like a complete maniac on Zoom calls wearing a tank top, 5” shorts, and a flipped up lid on a five-panel cap.
I ended up running two miles today.
Took off out the door on my lunch break. About ten steps in I realized how much I seriously underestimated the soreness in my legs, less so my hamstrings but my calves and achilles area. But I still rallied my aching limbs to run 2.3 miles. About a mile in, my neighbor from down the street goes flying by me as if I’m at a standstill. In fairness, he’s about ten inches shorter than me with quick little legs. He also didn’t stop running for six months like me and… and… he was shooting from behind me coming downhill (so: momentum) whereas I had just run up the ridiculously steep incline off the basketball court hill and was begging for mercy to just make it to the top and then once I made it to the top could barely put one leg in front of the other.
But I don’t care about speed.
My pride may take a hit for about a minute, and it definitely did (“I’m so slow now”), but then it’s over. I may be lumbering out there right now, and even in the weeks or months to come, but I’m still moving forward, one foot in front of the other.
About a half-mile later, I see another guy who I’m pretty sure runs every day and hasn’t taken a day off in years. He’s a slow runner. Very slow. Snail’s pace slow. He runs slower than any human being I’ve ever seen. Tiny steps, one in front of the next. Sinewy build. Not a spec of fat on his body. He’s older than me. I don’t know by how much, but I’d put him at 50 years old. It’s possible he’s even older. He used to run barefoot everywhere. He no longer does. But it reminds me to be more like him. To slow my pace even more than it already is. Because unlike a speed demon who is going to burn out at some point, this guy keeps going and going and going like the Energizer bunny.
Back when I used to run for three hours at a time, I’d meet him when I set off for my destination and on my way back far flung from the civilization that is our community setting. It was like an unspoken camaraderie between the two of us, even though I’ve never once heard this guy speak. We’d just wave or nod at one another, both of us completely caked in dried sweat layering itself on our faces and necks and legs
“I see you brother.”
Friday
I ran just over three miles today which means to complete my first week’s goal of 10 miles, I need a measly .4 miles on Saturday. The soreness in my upper legs is mostly gone. The right calf area is still achy and is basically saying “take a day off man,” but I’m so close to my goal that I’m going to push it for about a mile on Saturday because I’m not getting this close to my goal and then throwing in the towel.
I will, however, take off Sunday. Not that my right calf area will magically heal with one day’s rest, but at least it’ll get a break. Then on Monday, I’ll do my best to force myself to run one solitary mile, enough to keep my habit in check moving into the second week but not enough to exacerbate the pain too much.
One of the side effects of running I’d forgotten about is that it makes you more regular. Not that I wasn’t already regular before, but I’d forgotten how much faster it moves along that process inside your body. I was sitting at my desk at work and thinking, “But I’ve already gone to the bathroom today. What the hell did I eat?” Then it hit me: oh yeah, running.
Saturday
It’s Saturday now and yet another 80 degrees on the books. I have to admit: I didn’t intentionally choose a week with a string of good weather to start running again; but I couldn’t have picked a better week to lace up the running shoes. My goal today is one mile. That’ll push me over the 10 mile mark.
I did it. Ran a lone mile today. Swallowed my first bug of the year in the process. Extra protein. Not sure which type of bug. It had wings and it flew into the back of my throat while running up a trail near the woods. I hacked. I coughed. I tried everything to free the bug because I didn’t know if it had a stinger or not, the answer: thankfully not, but to no avail did it exit my mouth. It’s in my stomach somewhere now.
Regardless, this week marked the transformation.
I’m officially a runner again.
I set a goal, I held myself accountable, and I achieved the goal. I’ve burned, on average, 350 calories running every day based on my height and body weight, and my stress levels have dropped significantly.
It feels good to be back.
For the sake of keeping my accountability going, I plan to use this specific post to document my progress over the next six months. I won’t be writing each day about it, but I plan to do a progress update each week ideally. If this is of interest to you, or helps motivate you in some way, bookmark this page.
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