Runner’s High OR Runners Are High
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Without doing the actual math, I would venture to guess that 80% or more of my friends are runners – albeit, various stages of runnership. ‘G’ is a badass marathoner. Her SUV
could be completely covered in those 26.2 decals like some sort of bizarre math autowrap. Meanwhile, ‘S’ just completed the Couch to 5K program, ending in a neck-jarring 5K. Seriously. She injured her neck. She doesn’t even know how she managed to pull that feat off, either. But most importantly, she trained daily and completed her first 5k!
could be completely covered in those 26.2 decals like some sort of bizarre math autowrap. Meanwhile, ‘S’ just completed the Couch to 5K program, ending in a neck-jarring 5K. Seriously. She injured her neck. She doesn’t even know how she managed to pull that feat off, either. But most importantly, she trained daily and completed her first 5k!
Sidebar: why are races labeled in kilometers until they reach marathon status? 5K, 10K, 13.1 miles, 26.2 miles. Is it because 3.1 miles doesn’t sound nearly as kickass as 5k? Or maybe it’s because 42.195k sounds ridiculous compared to 26.2 miles.
I’m kind of jealous. I would love to be able to run (without pain). Don’t waste your typing skillz on explaining to me exactly how I, too, can do it. I’ve tried. And I now have titanium trophies implanted in my back. Let me back up and regroup (like our kids’ obnoxious “new” math)…
Rewind to October, 2003. I am working out with my trainer and we’re discussing her training me for an amateur figure contest. She thinks I can do it. I think I can do it. Let’s do it! But first let’s do some dead lifts! And then *POP*… poor form, shoulders rounded, lumbar disc is blown from my spine to the opposite wall. November, 2003: Laminectomy and partial discectomy (which is surgical speak for snapping off a piece of the vertebrae and plucking the bulging disc from the spinal column).
Full recovery! Hurray! Then I got knocked up, had a baby, and got fluffy(er). What gets rid of excess fat faster than anything? Say it with me… RUNNING!!! So I tried it: Walk for an hour, jog for 1 second. Walk for 30 minutes, jog for 2 seconds. I hated running. It hurt me from head to toe. My lungs burned with the intensity of a thousand forest fires. I had to keep stopping to re-light my cigarette. My toe nails hurt from being repeatedly slammed into the toebox of my shoes. My knee caps filled with water and felt like they were sliding right down my legs. I swear my shins cracked like aged tree bark. But I kept at it cuz I just needed to “work through it”, right?
It took me a while at this pace, but eventually I was jogging upwards of 3 CONSECUTIVE miles! AY DIOS MIO!! I was a RUNNER!!! At 6 feet tall, you’d think I’d look like a blonde gazelle bounding across the concrete Serengeti wearing cool running pants and slick running shoes. Smooth, fast, graceful!
No.
At 6 feet tall, painfully uncoordinated, and comically awkward; I more resembled an ostrich with a broken leg, flightless wings outstretched to help maintain balance – limp/running to safety.
Sadly, I would never pass the 3-mile marker. One day, while shaving my legs, I noticed I couldn’t feel the razor glide up my shin or the ledge supporting my foot. “Weird,” I thought. “Should I be able to feel that?” So I tested it on the other leg. Yep. I should be able to feel that.
August, 2007. 2-level Anterior Lumbar Interbody Fusion (ALIF). Apparently, the impact of my ‘long-distance’ running had caused a domino effect of crushed discs up my already-compromised spine. No more running for me. Ever. Again.
I felt like the poor, dorky kid in gym class (who was always picked last for EVERYTHING) was just handed a permanent “Excused From Gym Class” note. It was awesome! I was told to never run again! I didn’t have to try, anymore. I didn’t have to beat myself up because everyone else was doing it. I had a legitimate excuse!
Oh, man! That was liberating. I discovered less painful forms of exercise and even became a fitness instructor (I know. I still can’t believe it, either). But somehow, over the years, I managed to surround myself with a passel of runners. The gnawing feeling that I should be running with my crazyass friends has plagued me for years. Ohhhh… I don’t evny them! Ohhhh I DO envy them!
I like to get into their heads and learn all about the process of the long distance runs. What is training like? What happens to your body during the process? Do you get bored after THE FIRST TWO HOURS? What kind of illegal drugs would I have to administer to motivate myself to run for fucking 2+ hours?
Here’s what I’ve learned – beyond the obvious knee, ankle, foot ailments:
- Toes get banged around in running shoes, a lot, resulting in bruised nails that turn black and fall off. Awesome! Are pedicures discounted if you don’t have all 10 toenails??
- While running long distances, the friction of clothing (and even rubbing skin) can and will cause chapping and rashes. Brings a whole new meaning to the “That really chaps my ass” saying, doesn’t it? Locations that make me cringe the most: nipples (from prolonged rubbing of shirts/sports bras), armpits, inner thighs.
- Research has documented links between marathons and increase of cardiac events immediately following and for up to 24 hours after a marathon.
Bonus! Why wouldn’t I run a marathon?!
Interestingly, the marathon finds its origins in the legend of Pheidippides – a Greek messenger, who ran the entire distance from Marathon to Athens to watch a Georgia Bulldogs game, got drunk, collapsed, and died. Or something like that.
So, it appears running isn’t all cupcakes and candy canes. It’s grueling, painful, and – in rare instances – fatal. So why the hell do so many people ‘just do it’? Repeatedly?
Accomplishment. I get it. I mean, I’ll never “get” it… but I get it.
I’ve heard of the runner’s high. I kept waiting for the runner’s high. I never achieved it, but surely everyone else does or they wouldn’t keep at it. Maybe I have some sort of odd immunity to the runner’s high. What does it feel like? Does it occur before or after you throw up?
I have a friend who was recently talked into training for a half-marathon. While I outwardly called her a sucker; inwardly, I am in awe and fairly jealous. Nevertheless, I haven’t loosened my death grip on my permanent doctor’s note.
-B(Sting)
