Running sucks.
Your body hurts. You're always thirsty. Pretty much always hungry. And finding a bathroom isn't always an option.
Running has always been that one thing my body could never do. Growing up I wasn't allowed to run or do much physical activity without someone getting on me to calm down. Running to the corner and back would cause my heart to race and face to flush. My lungs were probably worse, gasping for breath while my parents denied I had asthma.
You see, when I was a baby I contracted something called Kawasaki Disease. It was the early 80's and pretty much no one had any idea what was going on with my body. High fever, swollen glands, etc...and it could have been a number of things except for one some strange symptoms that led the doctors to realize that I had somehow acquired a rare autoimmune disease that typically only affects children of Japanese origin (and event then mostly boys). I don't remember much of what happened to me since I was just a baby, and the lack of any contact or relationship with my parents (and the other 99.9% of my family) prevents me from learning, but the disease did damage to my heart at the time. I may or may not have had heart surgery, and lack of medical records prevents me from confirming. I did have an aneurysm, apparently, and until I was fully into puberty I had to visit the doctors at CHOP for stress tests and the such every year. Fun. At some point I was declared to be ok, but activity as a kid was still cautioned, so I ended up playing sports like volleyball and softball where your heart rate remained on the lower scale. Riding my bike and rollerblading in my teen years were my main source of heavy cardio, and even then, as I climbed in speed, my lungs would continue to tell me to feck off (and still kinda do).
When I started running a few years back, needless to say I sucked. I had put on excessive weight from a difficult pregnancy, had to have hernia surgery, and was dying to get back on my feet. I had always been a biker (not exactly a "cyclist") and remember watching the tour as it climbed The Wall during the cycling classic that used to be held here in Philly. Growing up partially in Manayunk (where my mom was from), the steep climbing streets didn't really affect me. When my parents divorced and I would still keep in contact with my mother I remember peeling down that same road on my roller-blades sans breaks, slowing hockey style towards the turns (sometimes with a cigarette in my mouth in my pseudo-punker style of a angsty teen with home troubles). I come from a screwed up family and did some dumb shit to my body and because that screwed up family also has histories of really screwed up health on both sides, postpartum I needed to get healthier and back to, no, better than, my normal self.
I joined a gym and started lifting weights. I love lifting. It relieves aggression, and is just fun. My Eastern European ancestry, however, likes to put muscle on - fast. Bulking is super easy for me, so, in addition to weights every morning, I started running. I am too ADD to like those elliptical machines and the bikes with the big padded seats make my legs chafe. I was scared to run at first, but once I hopped on the treadmill, I kind of liked it.
My husband signed me up for a 5K a few months after that, so I pounded away of that devil machine a few times a week after work (in addition to am weight training still), and my ego was pleased when I actually completed my first 5K in under 30-minutes. (I apparently scored 3rd place in my age division as well, which I discovered only last year when I was going through the old race report). Now, a few years later, my 5K is a little more acceptable, but not by much. My lungs still hate me, but at least now I have medication and inhalers to help me when I feel like an elephant it sitting on my chest and the stabbing makes me feel like I am going to loose my lunch (or energy gels, which taste nasty coming back up ).
One year and two 5Ks became two years and a few more in addition to a 10K, which led to three years and a half marathon (plus my first 24 hour bike ride where I completed 160 miles), which led to year four and my introduction to trail running and charity century rides - plus a duathlon, which leaves me at year 5 and my first marathon, ultra marathon, and set of triathlons.
It has been a long few years into this journey. I have been in physical therapy twice for three injuries and have had needles shot into my toes for another ongoing problem. I have burned through a dozen pairs of shoes, even more pairs of shorts, bought my first bike that actually has gears on it (I was a single speed / fixed gear rider for the past ten years or more with the messenger bag to go with), and learned to swim. Yup. Until this past April or May I couldn't swim. I could "not die" in the water, but that would only last about ten minutes...tops. Now I'm preparing myself to push into limits that still make me want to hurl over in anxiety.
So why do I run?
I run because for almost 30 years of my life I couldn't.
I run because now I can and there are a lot of people who cannot.
I run because I have a 6-yr old with almost as much energy as me and I need to be around a long time for.
...and I run because it sucks.
And pushing through a few hours of something that genuinely can suck, I think, will make you a better person in the end: stronger, more confident, braver, and wiser.
Life can suck sometimes, but in a few hours, everything will be ok - and you'll have some awesome views from the journey.
