The First Run

My first thought, looking down at my feet, is that stretching upwards from them are my jiggly white thighs that look like very whale-like and... well, white. Here's hoping they get tanned so I no longer cause motorists to veer of course from their blinding white-ness. It's a gorgeous morning, bright and warm. Not hot. But then again it's Canada and it's May, and it does not get hot until July.

The boyfriend came with me. Before I go any further let me explan that the boyfriend was in the army for a long time. He has run when he doesn't want to run and pushed himself. So he's going to be playing the part of the 'coach'.

"There is only one rule. Don't stop. You can slow down, but you cannot walk." Now he tells me.

After the first five minutes I was thinking about walking. Thinking how nice it would be to feel the release and just walk instead of this thudding pain. But not pain really. Just an ache like an engine that's not warmed up, which is, I suppose, the case.

"Lean back and keep kicking your legs forward." This is the man I want to marry?

He wants me to lead but I don't want to. He doesn't know where he's going but I don't care there is no way on this green earth that I am going to run in front of him so that he can contemplate the rubbery bouncing of my ass.

No, I much prefer to be behind where I can struggle to maintain steady breathing so I don't sound like I am dying. I still want to walk.

"Walking is for fat chicks and old people." That's ok, I think being a fat chick is ok Mr. Army. But strangely enough this is slightly motivating in an I-hate-you sort of way. It's ok to hate this. No one but a crazy person would love this.

We jog (because this is too slow to be running but not slow enough to be fat-chick-pace) past some garage sales and I image them thinking 'bloody keeners' in the exact same tone that I think that whenever I see a runner. I wonder if they have ever run before, but the stylish muu-muu that the woman is wearing me makes me lean towards no.

I voice my vote for the 'run 10, walk 1' school of training. Actually, he says that comes from JOG 10, RUN 1.

I don't like that way either. But I keep going. I'd like to write that by this point I think running is fun. That it is exhilirating and freeing and the wind is blowing through my hair and I'm all Pheobe about it. But I am not. No, I am not. I still do not like it.

"Pain is a weakness that is leaving your body." Now that is funny. I'm sure someone yelled that at him once and I'm happy that he just leans over and whispers it to me. I am starting to like having Mr. Army as a coach. Because I could believe in that. So I think about that and I feel that ache and imagine it leaving my body. Cool.

I've never run with anyone before. Never let someone see me trying to do something beyond my reach. Because right now running effectively and 'prettily' is very outside my reach. I run jiggly and gaspy and scare small dogs.

I have worn a watch, I don't think I'll do this again because I keep looking at it when only minutes have gone by and that is more painful than the running itself.

We get stuck at a light and I am feeling dizzy. I don't want to say anything but I really am dizzy, I wobble a bit and want to sit down. We cross the street and I make it a couple of more minutes before saying "I don't care, I need to walk. You run ahead." He doesn't, he walks with me and we head home.

I only ran for 20 minutes. I could lie and say I ran longer, but what's the point of this if I am not honest about it. Twenty minutes is not long. But then again, I've never run for 20 minutes in a row. Ever.

When I am home I think about what I've done and it's a mixture of pride and disappointment. I am proud that I did something and disappointed that I could not do more. But it is a starting point. Stay tuned.