I Bleed Therefore I am a Runner

In January 2008, I had a Forrest Gump-like epiphany. I put on a pair of running shoes, got on my treadmill and ran for 30 seconds. That's exactly how long it took me to realize I was a toad and that I needed to revise my fitness goals. (Forrest Gump had clearly put in some training miles before he stepped from his front door.)

I needed a realistic goal and a plan to get me there.

I signed up for a 5K and began working toward being able to run 3.1 miles. Over the months, I ran for a couple of minutes, walked for more than a couple of minutes and by April I was able to run for a half-hour without wishing the treadmill would spontaneously disintegrate or that a sudden May blizzard would cause the race to be canceled.

On a chilly May morning, I completed my first 5K in 35:56, a pretty respectable time for me.

For some insane reason (there goes Forrest Gump again) I next decided to set my sights on a half-marathon, 13.1 miles. From 3.1 to 13.1 miles in ten months? No problem. This was a different endeavor but not impossible, right? I'd had two babies; I knew what pain was. I knew what endurance meant. And more importantly, I had lots and lots of time to train for it.

This is what I've been telling myself for months now. "I've got lots and lots of time." As each month has passed I've been slowly adding miles and saying to myself, "I have lots and lots of time." Since I'm too scared to run with a group, I've been solo in my training efforts but diligently putting in the miles and comforting myself with the "I've got lots and lots of time" mantra. So far so good.

But today marks a new level in my training. With just 24 days until the half-marathon, I took my shoes off after my run this morning and one of my socks was red and bloody. Cool! I didn't fall. I didn't reopen an old wound. I spontaneously BLED!

I wanted to share my good news with somebody. This is when being part of a running group would have been of benefit since Daisy-the-Devil-Dog wanted to eat the sock and I had no idea whether I should be concerned about a painless bleeding toe.

But forget all that, I just completed a 30-mile week and the one really cool thing about it is that I had a bloody sock.

I am a runner.

I opened my email this morning to this bit of intriguing news. . .

"Sister Madonna Buder, 78, a Roman Catholic nun who resides in Spokane, WA will be this year's official starter and will also run the event. She began running at the age of 48 and throughout her career, she has completed over 200 triathlons and 13 Ironman Triathlons. At the 2006 Hawaii Ironman at the age of 76, she became the oldest woman to ever complete the race."

Last week I signed up for a 15K to take place this Saturday, February 7. I didn't think it through, just did it because I am training for a half-marathon and am due for a 9 miler this weekend. Shortly after I hit the final "submit" button, the doubts began to creep in one by one.

My first fear was freezing to death (I am a slow runner with southern-rooted DNA). My second was falling on an icy street and having a frozen body part like an ear, finger or foot break off. My third fear was crossing the finish line in last place long after everybody had packed up and gone home.

I went through all the therapy-ish self-talk, "What's the worst that can happen?" and "Is it likely to happen?" In the end, I concluded that I would be fine. I could handle last place.

But now I have a fourth fear: I am going to get my butt beat by a 78 year-old Roman Catholic nun, the official starter for my 15K on Saturday. Instant karma's gonna get me.

It doesn't matter how many times I take the adult high road and resolve to view Sister Madonna Buder as a role model. It doesn't matter that she is a woman of profound faith or that she clearly holds her health in high regard and wants to share her good news with others. It doesn't matter how many triathalons she's participated in or the fact that she started all this nonsense when she was 48 when I'm only 43. The object lessons are endless on this one!

What matters to me is that she's a nun, she's 78 and she's going to beat my butt. And now my good news is that - right or wrong - I think I have found the motivation to move up to second-to-last place.

Pray for me.