A Recap of My First 5K

Two great friends met me in the parking lot to see me off at 7:15 (they were running the 10K that started a little later). I was surprisingly calm, not even nervous enough to pee. I made my way toward the back of the pack - walked right past the 6 mile runners, the 9 mile runners, even the 13 mile runners. It was important that I have no illusions and stay out of peoples' way. So after they fired the gun 3 or 4 minutes passed before we even started moving. I stayed with the slow joggers for the first couple of city blocks, where all the crowds were. And then I stopped running and started walking. It was a shameful moment. I hadn't even run a whole 2 minutes. I'm sure no one was surprised but me, which is probably why I was so ashamed. I was really hoping that adrenaline would compensate for my lack of dedication to a training program. At that point, the runners were in front of me and the walkers were behind me and Tiffany's I Think We're Alone Now came on. I love that little music box. She talks about running just as fast as we can, so I figured I really should get moving - an eighties icon was demanding it of me.

I jogged very slowly for a while and in what seemed like no time at all I passed a sign that said 1 Mile. I couldn't believe it - I was a third of the way in! Then about 16 minutes and a few Britney Spears songs later I saw another sign that said 1 Mile - 5K. So the other sign was for one of the other races. Fuck you, first sign. I could have cried. There were actually a lot of points throughout the race and during the rest of the day where I had an overwhelming urge to cry. Maybe that's all the adrenaline did for me. What a gift. And my little music box was on shuffle, so the Mindy McCready songs that popped up made me think the universe was telling me it was okay to pull over to the side and cry for a while. Once I skipped over one of her songs and Mary J. Blige's Not Gonna Cry came on. Funny. There was a hydration stop after the real mile 1 marker. I took some gatorade, then vomited after I rounded the next curve. I've always wanted to vomit while working out because I thought it would make me feel like a real athlete. It didn't. Somewhere in the middle of mile 2 a man with a prosthetic leg rode by me on a bike with a little dog in the front basket. I really thought I was hallucinating.

I walked most of mile 2, which was a little disappointing. Eventually, I just became way too forgiving of myself. Someday I'll figure out that self-discipline thing. The finish line of the race was in Notre Dame's football stadium, so the running out through the tunnel part was neat. It was like I was Rudy and Fortune was saying to me: You're 5 foot nothin', 100 and nothin', and you have barely a speck of athletic ability. And you hung in there with the best college football players in the land for 2 years. And you're gonna walk outta here with a degree from the University of Notre Dame. In this life, you don't have to prove nothin' to nobody but yourself. And after what you've gone through, if you haven't done that by now, it ain't gonna never happen. Now go on back. I'm not exactly 100 pounds, but I am exactly 5 feet, so I've got that going for me. Plus the degree, but that thing has yet to prove its value.

The first time I hiked the Grand Canyon I had two thoughts when I got to the top: 1) I see people with ice cream cones, where's mine? and 2) I could do that again. Right now. When I crossed the finish line at the Sunburst I had two very similar thoughts: 1) I see people with popsicles, where's mine? and 2) I could do that again. Right now. But it was a little different than the euphoria of hiking 6 miles on a steep incline along canyon walls. I wanted to do it again because I knew I could have finished in a lot less time and wanted to prove it to myself. So my goal for my next 5K is to shave 10 minutes off my time, which shouldn't be all that difficult considering my official time was 52:42. They posted the professional photos of our finishes online today. I'm purple and flabby in them. I love them. There's even a 29 second video of me jiggling across the finish line. It makes me smile. I'm considering posting some of them on here, but I know that not all of you know who I am or what I look like and I'm not sure I want that to change. I almost forgot to tell you about my favorite music moment. The Rough Riders Anthem (you know, Stop, Drop, Roll) came on as I entered the stadium. It was awesome to have DMX tell me that this is how Rough Riders roll as I collapsed and remind me that Talk is cheap m............

First 5K is in the Mañana

Here are the things that are going through my mind about tomorrow:

- What should I eat for dinner tonight? Maybe I won’t eat anything so I’ll wake up hungry and have a big breakfast. If I throw up, people will probably have more sympathy on me when I slow down to walk and catch my breath on occasion.

- Most runners don’t have boobs. I do. Big ones. Even for a fat girl, they’re big. Where am I supposed to put this paper bib with my number on it? If I pin it to my upper chest it flaps up and down unless I put pins in the bottom too. But then you can only see the top half of the numbers. Plus it looks ridiculous, all curved around my breast shelf. I have about 5 inches of torso below the shelf, so there’s not really room for it there either. And I’m sure a sports bra and the uni-boob it gifts me with won’t make this issue any easier.

- What if I just...sleep through my alarm? It happens; people would understand. Jessica warned me that since I’ve already checked in it will say “no show” next to my name when they publicly report the times. Maybe I’d rather it say that in the newspaper than advertise my 18 minute miles.

- This should not be this big of a deal. There are plenty of people who run 3 miles or many more on a daily basis. If this is really hard for me, that’s my own fault and I have no reason to be worried or complain or think of this as some sort of accomplishment. Thanks for letting me unabashedly do all of the above.

- I’m really glad they gave me a t-shirt.

I'm baaack.

I have been missing for a while. Sorry about that. I got shin splints, was out of commission for two weeks, went on one run, and then jumped back on the lazy fat girl wagon. Or relapsed, depending on your perspective. This blog was supposed to be an accountability mechanism, and it didn't totally fail in that respect. Trust that I felt sufficiently guilty each time someone asked me why I hadn't posted in a while. For most of the last five weeks the answer to that question was laziness, but the shin splint thing functioned as a nice stand-in for the truth as time went on. Those incessant questions and the ensuing guilt and shame are probably the chief reasons I started running again two weeks ago and have decided to run this 5K on Saturday even though I am incredibly ill-prepared. I owe a big thank you to my avid fans/critics. Lack of preparation is not the primary source of my anxiety about this weekend. A map of the race route reveals that there is only one bathroom stop, about a third of the way into the course. This concerns me. The most annoying thing I've heard from my well-meaning friends who want me to like running and claim that they do is that it is relaxing. How in the world can you be relaxed while you're trying not to pee your pants or shit yourself? Just when I think I've "found my pace" (does running a total of maybe 18 miles in 8 weeks qualify me to use obnoxious runner terms like that?), something very terrible happens. I have to go. Right then and there. Sometimes it's pee, usually it's poo. This should not be a problem for someone my age. I empty all my systems out before I leave the house. And I'm still running 3 miles or less, which means I'm not gone for that long. Well, okay, I'm still averaging a 16 minute mile. But the point is I'm under 80 and should be able to control my bladder at least an hour. According to my google machine, running often triggers peristalsis, or the involuntary constriction and relaxation of the muscles of the intestine or another canal, creating wavelike movements that push the contents of the canal forward. Well, isn't that wonderful. I'll keep you posted on how this Saturday goes. Or maybe I've just written a post about unsavory bodily functions so people will stop checking this blog. Then I can quit this running thing altogether without getting harped on. Just kidding. Mostly.

Ouch.

Why am I doing this? This is so painful. But it feels so good at the same time. Well, not at the same time. Right now it feels good. Twenty minutes ago all I could think about was the sharp pain in my side, the dull ache in my shoulder, the fact that my fingers were so swollen they were about to burst, and the mean teenage boys that were laughing at me. I guess that part wasn't so painful. I don't blame them, actually. There is something hilarious about a girl galloping down the road, boobs a bouncing, sweat a pouring, breathing so hard she's squirting snot across her own face. But there's also something so encouraging and inspiring about it. Just like when someone runs a race with a prosthetic leg. Or when an old man gets visibly exciting by his nursing home aide. I can't be the only one that finds those things both touching and laughable. On top of making myself into fodder for other people's jokes, I think I've given myself shin splints. Or I've caught shin splints. I'm not entirely sure if it's a passive ailment or something someone does to their body - the research is vague. I'm not even entirely sure I have shin splints. All I know is that my tibia feels really close to the surface of my skin. And my skin feels like dried mud or paste, like it is cracking and crumbling every time I flex my calf or point my toes. My fancy Brooks running shoes finally came in, so hopefully they will make things a little better. I don't know if it's worth all this just to prove a fat chick can run. Haven't I defied enough fat girl stereotypes? Sometimes I order the veggie of the day instead of fries because it genuinely sounds like it will taste better. And I work out semi-regularly. And I actually like clothes shopping. I even date the occasional white guy. What I'm really worried about is that all of this turmoil will have been for nothing. I still can't run continuously for more than 2 minutes. For all the mind games I've successfully played with myself, I can't seem to convince myself that I don't need to stop and walk. Any suggestions for things I can tell myself while running? So far the most effective has been "You're not done until you've thrown up or passed out."

Campus

Tonight I was reminded of how good I am at manipulating myself into being lazy. I had a final paper/presentation due tonight, so I've gotten maybe four hours of sleep in two days. All day I kept telling myself no matter how excited I am to be done, I need to go running after class. After class I was even giddy (probably a combination of being done with that horrid class and being exhausted) about going running. I got home, sat down on the couch, and talked on the phone until it was dark outside. Even though I live in the ghetto, I normally wouldn't be that worried about running in my neighborhood after dark, but I'm still a little spooked from last week's break in (nothing too serious - just a couple of kids looking for a place to hang out at 3am and do what hoodlums do at 3am - once they realized I was home they slid back out the window and took off running). Really, running outside tonight was just not going to work. I secretly congratulated myself for coming up with an irrefutable excuse (can't beat the risk of bodily harm) and decided to reward my cunning ways by ordering a pizza. And then it hit me like a sack of potatoes. I live within spitting distance of the safest place on Earth. Well, maybe not spitting distance (Jenn is from West Virginia - perhaps her vernacular is contagious), but less than 2 miles from the University of Notre Dame. There, they spend billions of dollars a week maintaining the illusion of safety and perfection. Actually, I've been really disappointed in my alma mater lately to hear that they've been so complicit in keeping victims of sexual assualt on campus silent, but that's a topic for another blog. Generally, it really is the safest place on Earth. Nothing scares me less than 19-22 year olds in khakis and North Face fleeces with their Boston Red Sox hats cocked thoughtfully to the side. Our "Couch to 5K" training program has us running in 5 minute intervals this week. I maybe make it to minute two before I slow to a crawl and wonder what in the world I was thinking when I thought I could ever train for a 5K. Jenn convinced me that music would help me keep my mind off things, so I brought my MP3 player. The first song that came on when I started my run was Don't Stop Believing by Journey. ND peeps, you know what a Moment with a capital 'M' that was. Then came a moment I'm not so proud of. Two skinny girls ran past me toward the end of my warm-up walk. So I started running and before I knew it I was running very close behind them making noises that sounded somewhere between a grunt and a growl. They were terrified. They sped up, which I'm sure caused them to ruin their perfectly applied mascara. Normally, I wouldn't just go around terrorizing skinny people. But these are skinny, rich people, you see. I was totally lying earlier when I said that was a moment I'm not so proud of. It was hilarious. Aside from that inspired little sprint, the rest of the course was pretty uneventful. It turns out there are only two songs on that MP3 player, even though I spent several hours earlier in the week loading music on there. Guess that's what you get when you buy a gadget out of a vending machine. Well, not an actual vending machine - Jenn's husband won it for me out of The Claw that's tucked into the corner of our favorite bar. Two songs on repeat. In addition to Don't Stop Believing, I got to listen to Brick in the Wall - the version with the really long intro. At the end there is some dialogue about pudding. The perfect song for a fat girl to run to. I didn't end up ordering the pizza. Instead I ate some chicken and grapes and finished off a bag of baby carrots. I wasn't even "being good", I just didn't want to have to wait for the pizza to get here to eat.

'Hood Run, Take Two

Over the weekend, we're supposed to rest one day and do "20-30 minutes of easy activity" on the other. I didn't know there was such a thing as easy activity that lasts more than 20 minutes, so I decided to rest both days. But then towards the end of the day on Sunday I started feeling guilty. Since my run with Jenn went much better than I thought it would, I decided to give that first 1.44 mile route another try. It went much better than the first attempt, but it was still nothing pretty to witness. Maybe it was because I knew the route and could believe that even if it felt like it never would, it would end at some point. Maybe it was because I did my best to follow the structured run for three minutes, walk for three. Or maybe it was because I waited until the sun was almost gone to start running and I live in the ghetto. Whatever the reason, the route that took me 38 minutes to complete five days ago only took me 26 minutes this time. Small but significant victory. There were still lots of side pains and several moments when I convinced myself I absolutely had to slow to a walk or I was going to stop breathing. But I did get to break up a street fight between two teenage girls in the middle of it, so that was nice. Now I'm heading to bed three hours earlier than I normally would on a Sunday. Not only have I been forced to consume more protein, veggies, and whole grains, now my body shuts down before midnight. I thought working on your fitness goals was supposed to keep you young, but really it's turning me into an old lady. Geriatric meals and bedtimes. It is kind of nice, though.

Exclamation Point.

They say that every once in a while a day comes along that unpredictably ends up punctuating the story of your life. On Friday, Jenn and I had that kind of moment in our training journey. It was Friday at 4:48pm and it had started to rain pretty heavily and it was getting cold outside. I told Jenn I don’t want to run – I want to drink and sleep, but not necessarily in that order. Jenn also wants to drink. But this was the first day the two of us were supposed to run together – we even brought a change of clothes to the office. In our heads, the solution was easy – we would run to the bar and back. So we mapped out the route to Corby’s – exactly one mile from our work. If we ran there, had a couple beers, and ran back, we would far exceed our goal, which was to complete another 1.5 mile run. It’s a wonder the two of us haven’t solved world hunger yet. We went to the bathroom, double-bagged the girls (for the less well-endowed readership, this consists of securing your already lycra and wire-bound breasts with an extra layer of synthetic fabric – God bless the Sports Bra), and put on some sweat pants. After we got changed, we were trying to decide whether to put our debit cards in our socks or bras. Real runners don’t carry a purse. Real runners, where do you store your beer money, then? While all of this was taking place, we realized it was stupid to think we could fit in a couple of beers into our run, and this is where that punctuation moment happened. I’m not even sure how or why we made this decision, but we went running. We walked for three minutes, ran for three, and did that until we had gone one mile along the river and then doubled back. We ran 2 miles! In the cold rain. I was so proud of us. I was incredibly nervous about running with Jenn. Jenn is not a fat chick, to say the least. In fact, Jenn has the kind of measurements that make it into the lyrics of rap songs. We probably share a bra cup size (in fact, sports bras were a bigger priority for us than running shoes), but her waist is about the circumference of my thigh. If she wasn’t the sweetest person on the planet with a really infectious giggle, I might hate her. Well, that, and I’m an evolved human being. But Jenn was incredibly supportive and encouraging and pretended not to notice that I was about to keel over. When we went for our celebratory beers (I mean, we did run/walk TWO miles), Jenn didn’t even order fried pickles. She loves fried pickles. And we both got grilled chicken with a dry rub instead of sauce. Jenn said, “I know you’re not supposed to drink at all when you’re in training, but I’m not going out like that.” And, for the umpteenth time that day, I knew for sure I picked the right training partner.

Day Two.

Yesterday there was no run on the schedule. I got to choose between resting or cross training. You know what my fat ass did? Went to spinning class. Not because I’m an overachiever – that’s not the case at all. In fact, I’ve had a lot of people tell me over the past few days not to do too much too soon because I’ll get burned out. Those are the people who don’t know me at all. My real friends have sent me text messages to the tune of Fat Chick, have you done your run today? One of the things I’m best at is going easy on myself, so no worries there. This morning, I woke up and stuck my leg in the air to discover my ankles are back. Normally, that would be reason enough for me to stop working out for at least two weeks. Luckily, I have this blog and all of you rooting for me to keep me accountable. The main reason I went to spinning class was because I sit in front of a computer most of the day, and by 5pm my thighs were crying from yesterday’s run. If you can call it a run. My neighbors that had to witness it would probably say it was something more akin to a suicide attempt. If I didn’t do something with my muscles yesterday, I wouldn’t have been able to move this morning. So I took a break from work to head to the gym. Spinning class was a nice reminder that I am fat. And not in a negative, body-shaming sort of way. Just in a neutral, stating the facts sort of way. Yep, my butt jiggles when the instructor tells us to ride low (if I were in the row behind me, I would think this is funny). And yep, I sweat more than the average gal (but the reason I love spinning class is everyone is sweating buckets by minute 8). And yep, I am fat and I can still make it through 50 minutes of a grueling workout with 12 strangers, most of whom are much more fit than me. So being fat can just be a thing, like brown eyes or long hair or an oddly shaped pinkie toe. It can just be a thing and it doesn’t have to be a major part of who you are or define what you’re capable of. That said, I’m wary of this whole 5K training charade ruining my relationship with my fatness. I don’t want it to become a means to lose weight, because that is not what this is for me. I didn’t even want to start eating better, but I had no choice. On Wednesday night I woke up at 3am in a cold sweat with a stomach ache, and only then did I realize I hadn’t eaten dinner (or really anything of substance) since I had decided to start training for this thing. For me, when something becomes about losing weight it slips into very dangerous territory. I start to think if I complete this 5K, I’ll probably lose 20 pounds. And if I lose 20 pounds, then I’ll probably start getting to work on time. And keeping my house clean. And finishing assignments in advance of their due dates. And I’d probably get offered a modeling contract. Maybe even untie my shoes before I take them off, not like the lazy way I slip them off and toss them in the middle of the living room now. See what I mean by dangerous territory?

The First Run

Running 1.5 miles took me 38 minutes. Needless to say, I wasn't running the entire time. Before we left the office, Jenn and I gave each other pep talks. We confirmed that this is a mind thing. Mind over matter and all that jazz. I repeated a trope that I read on a running blog sometime last year when I thought running was going to become my hobby: "The body does not tell the mind when to stop running; the mind tells the body how far it can run." So after class I drove along the route I had charted on GoogleMaps to get a visual and mentally prepare myself. While I was doing that I was on the phone with Dolores (my mom/foster mom/former legal guardian/very close friend/confidant/whatever you want to call her - we prefer to use the term Hedgehog, since it's more inclusive than any of those words). With every block I drove, I told her that my heart dropped deeper and deeper into my stomach. So maybe driving the route to prep myself was a terrible idea. I went home and located my MP3 player. Jenn said 1.5 miles is 3 or 4 songs, which made this whole thing seem a lot more doable. The battery was dead. I ransacked my underwear drawer and luckily one of the gadgets in there takes AAA batteries. I was ready. I told myself again that the mind is in charge here and took off running. I made it about 40 yards, if that, before I started to feel like I couldn't breathe. Mind is in charge. A few more paces and my side started to hurt. Seriously. I hadn't even gone a block yet and my side ached. Before the end of the block, I had slowed to a quick walk. I was determined. I started running again. Didn't take too long to convince myself that I had to stop and walk. Got mad at myself and started running again. This pattern repeated a few times and then I sat down on the bumper of someone's car and tried to cry. No tears came. I wanted them to. I wanted some sort of validation of the emotional and physical pain I had convinced myself I was feeling. But they didn't. It's like my body was saying, Oh really, Fat Girl? Now our physiological cues are valid and relevant to you? What happened to the mind being in charge, hmm? So I started moving again and made a mental note to scourge my body for its betrayal when I was in a better position to do so. On second thought, a flashback to last night's meal and the admission that I've been that sort of unkind to my body for many, many years makes me think a scourging session may not be in order. I made it to the end of the .72 mile route I had mapped out and back. It's been 20 minutes since I walked in the door and I'm just now starting to catch my breath. There are some obvious things I can do to ward off this kind of pain in the future. More protein and more frequent meals, for starters. I'm sure the calories from last night's grease and beer fest wore off around 10am this morning, and since then I've eaten a cheese stick (reduced fat, which tastes like a salty pencil eraser - not recommended), a fruit cup and a muffin I stole from the conference room next to my desk, a brownie with nuts and frosting, and the Goldfish and diet coke I mentioned in the last post. Obviously, I will need to make some nutritional improvements if I am to survive the 7 week training program we've committed to.

The First Day

Today was Training Day One. I think I was supposed to wake up full of energy and excitement for this journey. I woke up hungover. Sadly, I'm not sure if I was hungover from consuming too much food or too much alcohol the night before. Jenn and I went to dinner at a dive bar with three other girls from work. Trust that we were ever-mindful of our lofty running goals while we consumed fried things. At one point, I made Kelly run after the bartender because we had forgotten to put in our order for Cheddar Munchies (a tator tot/cheese curd hybrid that is as life-changing as it sounds, dipped in ranch). When Kelly got back to the table, she asked if such running was part of our training program and said, "I should have made you do that, Fat Girl." And that in a nutshell is why I've had a major crush on that woman for almost four years. While we're on the subject of fried foods, I should mention that I have no illusions about training for this race being some sort of panacea for all of my body/eating issues. Economic principles tell me it can't be so. While a good pair of running shoes costs over $100, a bag of cheesy goodness from Taco Bell costs less than $5. Speaking of expensive running shoes, Jenn and I went on a little adventure over our lunch break to acquire some. We heard tell of a fancy store where they watch you run, pay attention to things like stride and form and all of that and recommend a good shoe for you. We were terrified. Jenn was nervous they weren't going to approve of her breathing technique or that she'd be nervous enough about that to fart on accident. These were minor concerns compared to mine, which included retaining any shred of dignity and not splitting the only pair of dress pants I own that fit me anymore. We had to run a short distance a few times (we're talking less than 30 yards) while being observed. I broke into a sweat. Not kidding. I'd like to think it was the nerves of being watched, but I know better. We did that a couple times in each pair of shoes, and made some decisions. Jenn's were in stock and she went home with a red pair of Brook's. Mine will be here in less than a week. I was incredibly relieved to put back on my four inch peeptoe heels and get back in the car. It took me the entire 15 minute drive back to work to stop sweating. I had Statistics class tonight (just a few more weeks of grad school!). During class, I ate a 100 calorie pack of Goldfish crackers and drank a diet coke to prepare myself for the toughest run I've attempted since freshman year of college. One and a half miles. Details on that in just a bit....

Oops.

We have an intranet site at work. It's useful for work things, or so I'm told. But there's also a tab for people to put up personal announcements and sell things and such. Once there was a lady selling bras on there. I don't think they were used. She listed her actual size - 42DDD. Today there was a post about our company offering to pay registration fees for anyone wanting to run in the Annual Sunburst Race. I like to distract my coworkers occasionally by reading what's on my screen like they were inside my head and have been following my train of thought all along. So today, when the post when up about the Sunburst, I made a little mistake. Without thinking, I suggested to Jenn, my pseudo assistant, that we run the race together this year. She started to give it some thought. And then I started to give it some serious thought. And her thoughts and mine gained some momentum together. Generally, that is not a good thing at all. At all. In fact, the last time that happened, I was driving home from Saturday dinner at 9am on a Sunday without being able to see (long story - the short version is I'm allergic to cats and West Virginian moonshine tastes like cinammon gummy bears). We decided on the 5K. Why the blog? you ask. People run 5Ks all the time. you say. Yes, but are those people fat chicks? Not most of them. Which is why I have an inkling the next 7 and 1/2 weeks of training are going to contain some really comic moments that need to be documented. Stay tuned. Training starts tomorrow.