Running

This week I began my own “training” program, designed by yours truly, to get myself in better shape. I was looking at the requirements for the physical fitness test for Air Force Officer Training School. Basically they require each person to be able to do a certain number of pushups in one minute, a certain number of situps in one minute, and be able to run a mile and a half in a specific amount of time. Pushups don’t really give me any problems, but I’m going to slowly build up to being able to do more. I could do situps all day long, so no problem there. But running. Ah, running. So begins my next post.

First, some background: For those who know me even fairly well, think back to a time when you saw me running… or doing anything really quickly, for that matter. I myself have recently tried to pinpoint exactly what type of occasion or event would inspire me to run from point A to point B. The only thing I have been able to come up with is – if someone or something is chasing me with the intent to kill. Short of that, I will only be inspired to walk briskly.

So this week I left the familiarity and comfort of my old friend the elliptical trainer. I have spent many hours on that machine, while reading a book, listening to my iPod, watching TV, juggling knives, you name it. On this machine you can do whatever you want while you’re exercising, which means you distract yourself from any discomfort you may be experiencing. You can do these things because you determine your own speed, and it’s pretty impossible to fall off unless you’re trying to do something stupid. Today, since I am trying to get in better shape, and increase (actually, develop is a more accurate word here) my ability to run for a respectable amount of time, I did not get on the elliptical trainer.

Instead, I walked right past it, straight to the dreaded machine…. where trepidation and angst hover like a looming thundercloud. The last machine in that place that I would ever get on willingly. That’s right. The treadmill. So here is the first of my two questions: Why would anyone voluntarily throw themselves onto this racing conveyer belt of death?? I don’t think people who run on treadmills are running for enjoyment, relaxation, or even for the health benefits. They are running for their lives. Because if they stop running, they will be forcefully hurled into the wall that is always conveniently located fifteen inches behind the treadmill. I think anytime you see someone on a treadmill, either it’s their first time, and they have not yet figured out how to turn the thing off… Or it’s someone who has conquered the fear of being pitched directly into a solid concrete wall, and they get some sort of thrill from achieving this victory on a regular basis. Whatever. More power to them.

The second question I have is this: Whether on a treadmill or not - why in the world do people enjoy running?? I can imagine what might be enjoyable about it. You can clear your head, let your mind wander, and it makes you feel good because it gets your adrenaline going. Well, maybe it’s just because I’m new to it, but when I’m running, my body is screaming at me, “What are you doing??!!! This is not at all pleasant!! In fact, it hurts, and I want to stop NOW!!” And that’s just what I heard during the first 12 seconds or so into my run. I’ve heard runners say that there’s a point in your run that you have to just “push past” in order to keep going. I thought maybe they meant push past some mild discomfort or slight dehydration issues. Apparently they meant you have to push past your legs turning to jelly, your knees buckling, and your poor lungs positively begging for more oxygen. Basically, when you feel your major body systems shutting down, just “push past it.”

So the disdain I already felt towards treadmills has now been coupled with my absolute animosity for running. I managed to stay on that horrible machine for 10 minutes. That’s right. 10 minutes is all I could muster. And of that, only 6 minutes were spent running. I had to alternate 2 minutes walking with 3 minutes running. Pathetic, I know. And when I finally stopped, and stepped back on solid ground, the only thing that kept me from crumbling to the floor in a lifeless heap was the fact that my knees were already so sore they wouldn’t bend enough to allow me such a gracious courtesy.

So that was my day at the gym. Fun times. And I’m looking forward to many more…