...or at least, you know, jog for about three.
It was The Big Day. As Pittsburgh welcomed the huge, slightly ridiculous but really adorable floating Rubber Duckie during its Festival of Firsts, people like me - first-time runners - were wondering what this 5K thing was all about...and, maybe, if it was worth it.
Oh, it was.
When I had signed up for the race several months ago, I didn't really know if I could do it. Like many people (artsy ones in particular), I really struggle finishing projects that I start. and this was a really big project for me. I've mentioned in the past that I was diagnosed with asthma when I was a child and dealt with a myriad of respiratory problems during my youth. Although I haven't had many issues as of late, I didn't know what starting a real exercise program would do to me.
Turns out, it's actually been great for me. Since I had started out very gradually, strolling for a half-hour on my lunch break, then slowly increasing it to a 50-minute power walk, I've built up my endurance. I still need my albuterol sometimes, mostly during seasonal changes or extreme weather (ultra-high humidity and really brisk mornings are hard - and this past week has been particularly difficult), but most days I'm fine without it. My bigger concern was that I had gotten drastically off-track regarding my Couch to 5K program. That, coupled with an upper respiratory infection that had been clinging for the pat week, led me to the decision that I would complete the race, but as a walker, not a runner. And I was okay with that.
Then something crazy and wonderful and magical happened. As I was in Oakland, in my beloved city on an absolutely picture-perfect day, surrounded by a sea of people in brightly-colored Nikes and battered track pants, I realized that I had no reason to be nervous. I guess I'd imagined that all 15,500 runners and walkers would be sleek and trim, with calves to kill for and perfectly toned arms. I thought there was such thing as a "runner's body", but guess what? There isn't!
There were heavy-set women in their thirties; skinny, bearded old men who wobbled a bit as they ran; tall, athletic college students who hardly seemed to sweat; scrawny pre-teen girls; lithe, flexible twenty-somethings whose running shorts were a little too short; and young mommies and daddies jogging alongside their children. And they were all there for one reason: to finish the race.
My former roomie Megan sent me a message encouraging me to do my best, whether it was by walking or running, but, she said, there is something very special about being in a crowd like that - you never know what you are capable of.
She was right.
I started the race with my husband at my side and we were walking briskly. Almost immediately, I slid into an easy gait and the first mile was down - no sweat. I couldn't believe it. I hadn't gone for a jog in probably almost three weeks, but there I had it. Mile one in about fifteen minutes. And I felt great!
Mile two started with a bit of a hill, and many of the runners and walkers around me slowed a bit. I did the same, as did Ross, and I lost sight of him. As I began to struggle a bit for breath, for the first time, I focused on the sounds around me. The constant slapping of shoes against pavement. The ragged breathing of the beefy guy behind me. The nearby "good job, keep going" of the volunteers offering water just up ahead. The members of Duquesne University's marching band rocking "Eye of the Tiger" to my right. (No joke - you ever hear that played on a tuba? So much awesome.) The day was gorgeous and it was a strange experience to be running the path I had driven so many times when I worked at the Starbucks in Oakland. I wanted to just gaze up at the bright blue sky, enjoy the crisp air and the sunshine, but I forged ahead.
Mile three, I swear, was going to be the death of me. The fact that I had not stuck with the Highmark program was now painfully clear as I tried to measure my breathing, ignore the slight cramping in my side, and the sweat that was cascading down my neck and back. On the sidewalk, here and there, were officials, family members, and volunteers. I saw two older women who didn't appear to be there to support anyone in particular, so they were cheering for every single person who jogged by. I thought that was great! I played songs in my head to keep my feet moving. I finally settled on "Overcomer", a recent Christian hit that has encouraged me in plenty of ways. And my feet kept going. My arms kept pumping. My breath kept coming. My heart kept beating.
As I rounded the corner, hitting the three mile-marker and seeing the finish line on my left, I felt tears well up in my eyes. I had little breath to spare, but I said, out loud, "Mom, I'm doing it! Mom! I did it!" and felt that I had defeated my own fears. I know she would have told me I was crazy (maybe I am). And asked if I'd taken my inhaler (I did). Then offered to make my favorite dinner as a victory meal (her oven-breaded chicken, wilted spinach salad [with bacon!], and great big gobs of gooey mac and cheese [with bacon!]).
As soon as I crossed the finish line, raising one weak arm in the air, I felt a wave of nausea overwhelm me and thought, "I am going to vomit here in the park. With thousands of people watching me. Oh, my God, I am about to be THAT person." Thankfully, though, the feeling passed almost immediately and I began to search through the throng of exhausted runners for my husband. He finally found me, and I noticed that he was holding a banana and an Eat 'n' Park Smiley cookie - and neither one was for me!
"Priorities," he said with a grin.
As our bodies recovered from the happy torture we had just endured, we made our way down to see that yellow duck in the river. Was it art? Well...no, probably not. But man, it was cute. And it seemed to make the real ducks jealous. The mallards floating by must have wondered why they, residents of the city rivers for years, had never been given any type of party at all. We took some cute selfies and wondered how many peoples' pictures we ended up in. Then we headed to the new coffee shop in Carnegie to celebrate our victory (i.e., survival).
Ultimately, I learned that I completed the race in 39:22, giving me about a twelve and a half minute mile. I was fairly impressed with myself and thought - how much better could that number have been had I stuck with the program?! Still - pretty great for an overweight asthmatic!
I haven't run since the Great Race. Sadly, I pulled my hamstring and it is taking some time to heal. Not to mention, the recent change in weather has been hard on my asthma and I've been having flare-ups recently. Still, I'm bundling up at work and walking on my lunch break. I've maintained my weight. My PCP was proud of me at my recent wellness check when she learned of my weight loss and regular exercise schedule. I'm planning on running the Race for the Cure in May to honor several friends, so I'd better get cracking, here. Soon!
Thank you to all of you who cheered me on - whether you really thought it could do it or not! If you want to read my story from start to finish, you can click here, here and here. I had the honor of sharing my journey via my employer's blog, too - I hope that it was a message of encouragement to everyone who got to read it!
(Currently, the internet isn't letting me post pictures on this blog so you can click on the links above if you want to see some. I'll update as soon as I can figure out the issue! -RG 11:00 AM 10/26/13)
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