Carly Sharec

Sometime in December 2009 – When I started running.
Sunday, January 31, 2010 – The date I became a runner.

I’ve never particularly liked running. I ran a lot in high school, mostly because of gym class or being forced to for cheerleading. When I worked out, I preferred to either lift weights or get on the elliptical. Running was boring.

I stopped cheerleading my junior year of high school, meaning that I wasn’t practicing/working out for two to three hours each day after school. Considering I had been doing so for six years of my life up to that point, the freedom was OVERWHELMING. But now six years later, after high school graduation and college graduation and entering the “real world,” I am a walking version of a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon. November of ‘09 was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back, so I’ve been working out and “dieting” since January 1. And what did I decided to do to work out and motivate myself? Run. I’ve decided to run.

There are a lot of reasons why I chose running:

• I am not coordinated enough to participate in the sports that I would be interested in participating in, such as tennis or basketball.
• I am not rich enough to participate in the sports that I would be interest in participating in anyway. I could barely afford my running shoes, which were on sale. And I had a gift card. And they were the cheapie ones anyway. But you don’t need a lot for running; while proper running gear would be nice, all you really need is a pair of shoes and some clothes. Boom. Run.
• A lot of the healthy lifestyle blogs I read are running focused, and they make it seem easy, but their “About” sections are all “Oh, I wasn’t a runner and I couldn’t run more than one minute and now I run 26 miles!” (I see no reason why that can’t be me a year from now!)
• Runners seem nice, but in the end it’s a sport you do alone. And I am fiercely independent; I don’t like doing a lot of things with other people. It’s nothing against people. I just like doing my own thing and not having to rely on others.

So I picked running, with the goal of running the Peachtree Road Race this July. And I’ve been running since Jan. 1, plugging the miles consistently after work and over the weekends. So far, so good: I’ve lost around five pounds plus some inches, my clothes are fitting better, I just feel better. But I still was hating on running. Again, for several reasons:

• I don’t have the endurance. I don’t have the mental capacity. And this is a neverending cycle: I run a mile, and it begins to get difficult. My brain says “Gah, you just ran a MILE! You’re awesome! You can stop now – I mean, how many other people can run a mile?” So I stop. So I do need to build up my endurance, but my mentality needs a significant overhaul, as well.
• I run after work on a treadmill. People say this is easier. People are LIARS. It is much easier for me to run outside. I run flat-footed on a treadmill, which makes my feet and calves cramp up. So after a quarter of a mile my legs are already super tight. My feet are in pain. It sucks.
• I run after work next to a man I have nicknamed “Gazelle.” He sprints along next to me as I gasp for air, clinging to the edge of the treadmill. He’s super nice (he’s actually one of my coworkers) and has been nothing other than encouraging, but when I reach that mile point I get images of him making fun of me behind my back. I have no empirical proof that he does this, but it’s mortifying to me. I mean, if I were working out next to a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day balloon, I would find that kind of funny. So I finish that mile and then haul ass out of there.
• Running is still boring.

So today I decided to go plug in three miles. I have a 5K coming up in less than two weeks, so I can’t give up now. I’m committed. I drove down to the local park where there’s a lovely walking track with beautiful scenery. (Other than the sewer plant.) I stretched my legs, jogged in place, and then took off.

The weather today? Beautiful. It’s chilly, but not the Arctic cold from a few weeks ago. The sun was beaming. Today more than made up for yesterday’s awful weather. A lot of people were out on the track, just strolling along. And I was running.

Before I knew it, a mile had come and gone. And I was still going.

A mile and a half flew by. Still going. (I had slowed down a bit by this point.)

As I reached the two mile marker, I started to cry. I never, never, never thought I would be at this point. Still running. Like, a couple of a weeks ago I ran a 40 minute 5K, but I walked a lot of it. Usually I’ll run a mile, then walk a half mile, then run a half mile, then so on and so on. Even at my most fit, I don’t think I ever ran two consecutive miles. The second mile ended at my car and I leaned against it, breathing heavy. My legs were burning and my lungs were screaming at me. Tears were streaming down my cheeks. I am a runner, I thought to myself. I can do this. It’s hard, but I can do this – I just did it. I ran, and it was hard, but I did it. I’m a runner.

Now, I was supposed to go three miles, but I was so overwhelmed at this point that I let myself into my car and just sat there, crying. After about 20 minutes of that, I just left. I can’t explain it – it wasn’t a mental thing this time. I wasn’t thinking to myself, “Wow, you just ran two miles, so you can leave.” It was more of just being so overwhelmed and grateful that I had to respect what I had just done and leave it for the day.

I’m sure I’ll have to walk some in my upcoming 5K, and I’m pretty sure I’ll walk a LOT of my upcoming 10K. I know I’ll still wrestle with that infernal treadmill. I know there will still be days when I throw in the towel after one mile. But now it’s okay. I’m no longer a fraud.

Because I’m a runner.