Running Lines New relationship spurs on persistence

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

— I am in a love/hate relationship.

No, despite my mother’s hopes to settle a “free spirit,” as she calls me, I do not yet have a husband or children.

The relationship I speak of is one that is much more aggravating, fulfilling, grueling and calming than anything any one person can do for another. I am pretty much married to Running.

Last weekend I traveled 1,300 miles to North Carolina’s outerbanks to run my first half-marathon.

Throughout nearly three months of training, Running told me (selfishly) if I wanted to cross my first finish line in an upright position, I needed to spend more time with it - as if I didn’t already devote all my sparetime, my social life, my energy and my diet to it.

My typical long run, much like a soap opera, was full of ups and downs and emotional outbursts and abuse and tearful reunions. Running would at first calm my thoughts, make me noticethe world around me and enjoy the cooling fall weather, my favorite. We (Running and I) waved to other runners as Jeep drivers wave to one another, sometimes got spooked by people flying by on bikes and very often pondered funny Facebook statuses in our head and laughed out loud.

Then Running turned on me, dared me to go ahead and quit if I wanted (snickering), tried to convince me I could never do it. I fought back and after mile seven or so, we made up once again and began thinking of other things, like ways to make a career out of writing about things that happen to me “like in the movies,” says my good friend Erica.

I pushed myself as far as I thought possible thoseweeks and at any second I just knew I would hit Running’s figurative wall. I wondered why we were still together. I also wondered who was going to find me sprawled out in the road because I passed out. But Running kicked me and demanded more. I gave it to prove I can because I am just as stubborn.

The morning of the race, runners filled the streets before the sun was up, making their way to the start.

We stood, tech shirt to tech shirt, waiting for the gun, chatting about where we came from and what our pace is. Then an amazing thing happened. The National Anthem came over the PA and the crowd of at least 4,000 rowdy, ready runnersfell silent. The cold morning air was thick with respect for a song and for a sport.

And then it was over - and then it began.

The course meandered through sand dunes, widowwalk-adorned residences, a state highway, a bridge overchoppy blue waves and into an outrageous pirate-themed party. Spectators cheered for people they didn’t even know and tiny hands begged for high-fives by the passing participants. My favorite sign, “Your butt looks good in those shorts,” gave me a much needed laugh at mile eight.

I ran the entire 13.1 miles and finished with a respectable time for a first-timer. I had crossed over from a fictional world of wanting to be a runner to one where I was actually a runner. Strangers hugged me when I said it was my first race, as if I had been gone for a long time and finally made it home.

Even though my knees will probably ache for a week, I forgive Running for all the times I swore I wouldn’t live to see the end of that day’s workout.

I apologize for the yelling and cussing and thoughts of breaking it off altogether.

And we’re together, in a harmoniously messy relationship that I can’t live without, planning our next trip.

Opinion, Pages 4 on 11/11/2009