March 19, 2024

So it goes

People will always tell you that the first step is the hardest, but that’s a lie. When you decide to take up running after a lifelong hiatus, all of the steps are hard.

First, a confession; I have never been a runner. In high school I was miraculously absent every time we ran the mile in gym class, which meant that I never received the President’s Physical Fitness award. After one missed opportunity, our gym teacher, Mr. Sullivan actually sent me out to the track with a stopwatch while the rest of the class played dodgeball. Instead of jogging I spent the entire class period laying on the grass, daydreaming. Toward the end of the class period, I started the stopwatch, accidentally recording a sub five minute mile.

(Mr. Sullivan, if you’re reading this, you were right, I wasn’t faster than I looked, no matter how hard I tried to convince you.)

During a physical earlier this year my doctor suggested that I think about starting a regular exercise plan. I’d shed some weight by becoming more active after nearly a decade of sloth and I wanted to keep making gains.

On a whim I decided to sign up for a half marathon, figuring that as long as I could find some sort of training plan on the internet that I’d be able to actually complete the race. The first one I could find was the Dam to Dam half marathon, “Iowa’s distance classic.”

I’d like to tell you that what followed was just like the training montages of any Rocky film, with clips of me jogging as inspirational rock blared.

But that, dear reader, would be a lie.

I didn’t do any training.

The only time I ran before Dam to Dam was to catch a connecting flight at the airport, which left me out of breath, and feeling my age.

On the Friday before the race I went to pick up my packet, and I sheepishly asked the lady who handed me my race number if I could switch from the half marathon to the 5k. She gave me a knowing smile and told me to just show up the next morning.

That night I started to get nervous. I’d never really ran anywhere, for anything. Would I get blisters? Crazy shin splints that would leave me doubled over in pain?

After a sleepless night, it was race day. A hot, muggy, morning. Since I didn’t have any idea what constituted proper “race prep” I just stuck to usual morning routine of drinking an entire pot of coffee, skipping breakfast because I thought I’d read somewhere that it wasn’t good to run on a full stomach.

I put on the free Dam to Dam shirt that had been included in my packet, only to discover that it was ridiculously small. In a panic, I grabbed the first shirt I could find in my closet, which turned out to be a long sleeved pullover. To run a 5k in on a hot, humid day.

You might know better, but I didn’t

I tied my running shoes, instead of just slipping my feet into them. A small thing to be sure, but I figured I could use all of the help that I could get.

Driving into downtown Des Moines I realized that I’d only told one person that I actually planned to run the race, ostensibly in case I chickened out and didn’t go through with my plan. Hopefully I wouldn’t keel over in the heat. My emergency contact was my mother, and the idea of her oldest son entering a 5k was so far-fetched she hung up on the hospital, assuming it was a prank call.

I couldn’t find a parking spot, and when the gun sounded, I was a block in front of the starting line. Without any sort of plan, I started to run.

I ran back to the starting line, dodging runners left and right, a lone salmon swimming upstream.

I crossed the starting line somewhere in the middle of the pack, and did a J turn that would’ve made Jim Rockford proud, still clutching my number and four safety pins in one hand.

And I ran as hard as I could, my car keys and cell phone beating a steady staccato time against my thighs. At some point I managed to crookedly safety pin my number onto my shirt.

That lasted for about 6 blocks, and after that I managed to establish a steady rhythm. I’d run a block, and then walk a block. Slowly but surely, I made progress. My legs didn’t hurt as bad as I thought they would. My lungs weren’t on fire. I didn’t get any weird cramps.

Still, I wouldn’t say I was comfortable.

I was hot, I was sweaty, and I was thirsty. At the first (and only) water station on the course I stopped to drink 4 tiny cups of lukewarm water. For a minute I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to start moving again, until a volunteer looked at me, smiled, and said, “You’re almost there, it’s just a little farther.”

She neglected to mention that it was a little farther uphill.

I just focused on putting one foot in front of the other, over and over again. I saw several other runners laying in the grass, some of them being tended by EMTs.

After what felt like an eternity in purgatory, (only 48 minutes in actual time) I heard my name announced as a crossed the finish line. I didn’t know what to do when I crossed the finish line so I just shuffled into the line of hot, sweaty runners, gulping free Gatorade.

I milled around the finish line just long enough to collect a free ice cream, chocolate milk, and a banana. It took me nearly 20 minutes to find my car after the race, at which point I realized that I was more than a little dehydrated and sun baked.

Then I went home, took the longest shower of my life, and went back to bed.

I was officially a runner.