I’m in my early forties and I’ve noticed that there seems to be a trend among the people of my age group…they’ve all become runners.
Before I begin my rant,
let me say this: Deep down I think the
fact that so many have laced up their sneakers and taken to pounding the
pavement is great. I applaud their effort. Running is good and
there is a part of me that is envious of those who have the drive and
determination to do it.
But…
I fail to see the
satisfaction. Years ago I ran the Bolder
Boulder, which is a 10K in Boulder, Colorado.
It wasn’t fun, but, despite the fact that I thought I might die, I made
it to the finish line. Last year I ran Warrior
Dash in Copper Mountain, Colorado, which is a 5K run/obstacle course at 8,000+
feet above sea level. The obstacles were
fun, but the running part was not.
The
point is, I find it unfulfilling, unrewarding and downright painful…so unless
there’s some incentive awaiting me at the finish line, like, oh, I don’t know,
a clean-shaven George Clooney holding a giant margarita and an enormous plate
of nachos…my heart just isn’t in it.
I look at the many
people in my life who have become runners and I marvel at their passion for
it. I also wonder how many have a
genuine love for it and how many just want to be able to say, “I ran that
half-marathon.” I totally understand the
latter, as I have done many things in life simply to be able to say, “yes, I
did that.” (i.e. Skydiving) I think we all have bucket list items like this. The people that really intrigue me are the
ones who are obsessed with running. The
ones who say things like, “I’ve got to carb up because I’m burning too many
calories on my ten mile daily run.”
Really?
What’s that like? What
is it like to look in the mirror and say, “Damn, I’m so skinny I better carb up.” I can’t even imagine.
I understand someone
taking up running in an effort to lose weight, i.e. jogging at the gym or
around the neighborhood three times per week.
I will occasionally get on the treadmill and try to work off my bulges…but, honestly,
I hate every second of it. In fact, I
loathe it and dread it and it makes me crabby just thinking about it. Blah. I’d rather scrub the toilets than get on the treadmill. Admittedly, I feel great afterwards and my
runner friends tell me that it’s because of the adrenaline surge and release of
endorphins during the run. I think it’s
just psychologically rewarding because I actually got my fat ass onto the
treadmill and worked out, wherein I can put a big orange checkmark of
accomplishment on my calendar for that day.
I was pleased to learn
that running outside is now being frowned upon in the medical community, documented
for causing long-term knee problems. I
already have titanium screws in one knee from a ski jump years ago, so that bit
of medical breakthrough allowed me to wipe my hands of the idea of ever running
a half-marathon; not that the notion was ever seriously being considered. Also, they are finding that runners are showing
signs of aging earlier than non-runners.
This is due to sun/weather exposure for those that run daily
outside. Doctors are saying that avid
runners have more facial wrinkles and drooping breasts than non-runners and
they are attributing this to the constant pounding of the pavement that bounces
more than just the lower half of the body.
That’s all I needed to
hear. Age and gravity are tough enough;
I don’t feel the urge to add any extra fuel to the fire. Suffice to say, me and my wrinkle creams and
my underwire bra are going to find a different way to tone and shape and manage
weight. When it comes to the idea of
running….I’m running AWAY! ~
