the beginning of the trouble

Lunatic

AND

The Runner

I'm the lunatic. She's the runner. Which is never so obvious as on these ohmygodit'ssofrackingearlyandreallyjesuschristicannotfeelmylegsanymorebecauseit'ssocold mornings. Have you ever tried running with a somewhat bored and definitely unimpressed border collie? I get the look at each stoplight: c'mon, Aunt Jo*, pick up the damn pace. She's not quite scornful, if for no other reason than I will be the one feeding her when we get home, fulfilling my role of "food lady #2".

But let's back up a bit, shall we? Above is me after my first ever marathon, almost exactly three months ago. If you had told me two years ago that I would ever try to do a marathon, much less finish it without, say, dying, I would have told you to stop drinking so much. And to maybe stop with the hard drugs, mmmkay? I'm what's affectionately known as a "fat girl runner". Not a derogatory term, mind you, just a descriptive one. So how did this all happen? Well, my SIL, and the Bro, and of course the Runner, started me out when I first moved in and now here I am, 600 miles and sweaty breathless amazement and 2 pairs of shoes and countless tubs of BodyGlide in, hooked. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. I'm a stage manager, a babysitter, a social worker, a dodgeball player--many things to many people--but what the hell? A runner? Uhhhh...

The Runner is a sinewy shiny black thing, a white tipped tail and all border collie herding--lab loving--crazy bad troublemaker of a dog. She was an import from Puerto Rico (seriously, her history so outstrips my own), adopted with about 9 other pups off the streets of Puerto Rico by a nun who shipped them all back here. Her first owner, a lovely man we call her "bio dad", adored her. His lady friend did not, and the Runner is lots of things but not a StarterDog. And once she caught wind of lady friend's...dislike...she did all sorts of terribly naughty things. I won't bore you. But it's our good luck, because she's now my SIL's sweet black shadow and my Bro's little girl and my Runner. From time to time her rotten beast stripes come out and she follows her sister, Big Bear, into household scrapes and garbage forays--but truth be told, they are two of the greatest dogs ever to exist on the planet.

My best friends think I'm nuts. Why would anyone run so much they lose toenails? Or break themselves (true story, says the SIL)? Or collapse from exhaustion? What could POSSIBLY be worth it? And once upon a time I would have agreed with them. Runners are crazy. We are CRAZY. You would have to be, to go 3.1 or 6.2 or 13.1 or 26.2 or dear god, even further (can anyone say ultra marathoner?) than that, and do it willingly, and joyfully. My first run was in the great looming hills outside our city and I cried the whole way. My first race was a 5k, 3.1 little ones, and yet by the end I'd never been more sure of my own two feet. It's a drug, this running business, and I'm hooked. There's no greater high than the endorphins, starting you out, getting you through the first mile/worst mile, the last 3 excruciating ones, and finally across the damned finish line (who the hell decided to put it so far away from the start, anyway?!). At the end comes a great surge of emotion, heady and intoxicating, and three days later when you finally come down, you realize that you did something big. That if you can make it every step of THAT CHALLENGE, hell, you can do anything. I'll be the first to say I'm not fast. Hah! The opposite of, in fact!! I'll never be fast and I'll never finish first. I'll never run a 6 minute mile and no one is ever going to look at me and say, "oh yeah. She's a runner. For sure." That's ok with me. And that's possibly my favorite part about running. It doesn't matter if you're Deena Castor or the slowest kid west of the Rockies. In the end, the distance you cover is the same.

So if you're at all intriguied, or you love running, or you've ever watched a marathon and thought, "what the f**k is wrong with these people?", or if you're really bored, follow along. The Runner and I are embarking on the next great challenge, a sub 3 1/2 marathon in the spring. I've finally recovered from my minor but sidelining marathon injury (subluxed cuboid bones suck, kids) and now we're starting again. It's gonna be fun! I have four months to lose some weight, pick up some speed and strength, and shed at least 15 minutes but hopefully more off my time. But if you follow along, be warned: you may just fall in love with this crazy sport. After all, I did.

Today's mileage: 3.36