Running Doesn't Really Suck

I ran four miles the other day. Ahhhhhh!

I have never envisioned myself as a runner. When it came time to complete the Presidential Physical Fitness testing in school, I was always at the end of the line during the 1-mile run. On the eve of the big run one year I actually ran around my house playing "Manic Monday" by The Bangles on a 45 record four times in a row. The song clocks in at about three minutes and I figured if I could jog for over 10 minutes, then I probably just ran a mile. (I still can't hear that song without picturing the hallway between my room and the living room, which acted as my track.)

Ever since we moved to Seattle 14 years ago, I've enjoyed walking around Green Lake. It's a little oasis nestled between State Highway 99 and Interstate 5. The paved trail around the lake is about 3 miles, there's a community center and pool, playground, and water enthusiasts can row, paddle, canoe and fish. It's also pretty flat. And did I mentioned paved?


For a non-runner like myself, this is the ideal place to walk - and I did - before kids for romantic strolls with my husband, with girlfriends to catch up on the latest gossip, and with kids (in carriers, strollers, on bikes with training wheels). While power walking one day, I just wondered what would happen if I jogged a little. Just picked up the pace a bit. It felt pretty good, so I kept going. I may have lasted about a quarter of a mile before I gave up, but the seed was planted that day: running doesn't really suck.

Over time I built up my running intervals so that a trip to Green Lake by myself usually means I'm going for a run. I still love to walk it when I'm with friends or the kids, but if I can sneak out of the house for some exercise on a clear day, I'm usually at Green Lake. And after the first quarter mile speed walk warm-up, I'm usually jogging.

Don't get excited, though. I'm not going to break any records. I don't mind being slow, but I do want to challenge myself. Which is why I signed up for the Seafair Torchlight 8K race at the end of July. I've never even run a 5K race, but since I already know I can do three miles fairly comfortably, I decided to push it a bit.

So on Tuesday when I explained to Doug that I needed to get out to run and he mentioned he needed to run an errand, our bargaining for who would manage the kids ended up motivating my training.
"Why don't you run down there and meet us? I'll take the girls in the car and we'll drive you home," Doug suggested.
"How far do you think it is?"
(Consults computer) "4.3 miles."
Oh.

I can't complain, since an early chunk of the route is downhill. I walked at points. I learned a lot about running on city streets versus on a pristine path near a lake. Car traffic aside, there's a lot of pollution you're breathing in. Much of my route curved through an industrial area with smoke, diesel fuel fumes and trucks kicking up dirt and gravel. But I made it. I finished the route-the longest route I can ever remember running in one go-and I was still standing at the end of it. The three most important people in my life met me there, holding a water bottle, giving me hugs and holding the fruits of Doug's errand: a huge bag of chocolate.