Finding my legs

It seems like every time I leave a restaurant in this city, step out of the subway, or find myself waiting for a bus that is consistently late, I am greeted with that familiar sound of rubber on concrete and feel the accompanying wind on my face. Sometimes, I even look up in time to see the back of another spandex-clad, I-pod wearing figure dashing off into the distance. On the days when I stop to give such a figure more than just as passing thought, I have had one of two reactions. 1) "Wow, I would kill for those calves" or 2) "I hope you get hit by a bus".

The slight undercurrent of violence in both of these reactions made me wonder about my lack of indifference toward these particular urban athletes. Whereas my passivity toward speed walkers, weight-lifters, yoga gurus, and Frisbee-throwers rarely garnered a single conscious thought, my simultaneous dread of and longing for the light footed stride of these runners seemed irrational. Perhaps, one could argue that all of our dreads and longings are irrational, but I would in turn argue that that is irrelevant.

So that leaves me here. Sitting on my couch in my underwear, blogging from my laptop and lamenting my conflicting feelings toward $200 Nike shoes, highlighter yellow wind breakers and the idiots/endurance gods that wear them. Or does it? I've decided - and you are bearing witness to my decision - to embody the persona that I both love and hate, yearn for and shy away from, laugh at and cry for. I will become a runner.

Now - let's seek out some context. Have I ever ran before? Yes. In middle school - when physical education was a requirement and I was very conscious about not being the last kid in class to finish the mile run. We can also count the dozen or so occasions since then in which the mood has struck (and quickly abandoned) me. We could call that a baker's dozen if this particular venture is equally as short lived. But that is not my intention.

Do I know anything about the sport of running? Well, I am pretty sure it involves that one-foot-in-front-of-the-other approach that I mastered in diapers some years back, but otherwise no. Nothing. That doesn't mean I don't want to or plan to learn, however. Google is my friend.

Do I have a plan? No, not really. That might be a problem. I know I want to start slow - learn to run just for the hell of it. Out of enjoyment, if you will, if such a thing exists when your heart is pounding through your ribcage and sweat is dripping from any number of ungodly places. I'd love to finish some sort of race this summer, but like I said - I don't know anything about running, and have no idea what is possible or not possible in 7 months.

Do I have the gear? I have tennis shoes. I bought them on sale at Fred Meyer two years ago, and they are well worn in. I have some old shorts and workout pants, and even a sports bra or two. I have no idea what to wear for winter running - will I be too cold in shorts? Too warm in pants? - but an ill-prepared short run will (probably) not kill me. I don't have the cash to trick myself out in the spandex and neon (damn), but hey, no one would want to see that anyway. So i'm working with what I got: my legs, my lungs, and some dusty old sneakers.

So the point of the blog:

• To try something new. To stretch the capacity of my own horizons, to break out of comfort that comes with only doing things I already know I can do.
  

• To track my progress as I "learn" to run for my own health and happiness, from scratch.
• To tell the honest truth about my journey on each step of the way. Every blister, tear, and triumph.
• To gain support and helpful hints from others, whether they be experienced runners, running newbies, or people who have never tied on a pair of running shoes in their life.
  

My first run will be short. Just less than a mile, with the last quarter being slightly uphill. I have no idea how much of it I will run, how much of it I will walk, or how much of it I will spend dry-heaving in an alley way. Okay. Here I go..