Tuesday, January 6, 2009

A Runner Is Born

Everyone knows that making an assumption about something is wrong. We’ve all heard the phrase when you assume, you make an “ass” of “u” and “me”. But I’m going to go out on a limb here and make an assumption that you’ve rarely heard this next sentence being uttered by a 47-year old man: I got a pair of tights for Christmas.

No, I’m not exploring my feminine side by experimenting with cross-dressing. The tights are Nike running tights and they’re the latest addition to my cold-weather running gear which, until this winter, I never imagined I would own. The fact that I have cold-weather running gear, or any type of running gear at all, is somewhat mystifying. Before I started to run last April, I was not what you’d picture when you heard the word athlete. The most exercise I ever really got was getting up from the living room couch and making the long trek to the kitchen for snacks.

I’ve been running now for nine months and I still find it slightly baffling that I can actually run a fair distance without collapsing. Every run feels different. There are mornings when every step is like running through quicksand on legs made of concrete and other times where I easily glide along with little to no effort. But even on those easier days, I can’t say I’ve ever felt like a real runner, although heading out in the morning dressed in the winter gear makes me look like one.

Instead, I often feel like the fat kid I used to be. That kid who was more than happy to sit down in front of the TV watching reruns of the old “Lost in Space” show (I believe ogling Major Don West made me gay, but that’s another story) while nibbling cookies. Lots of cookies. But now that grown-up fat kid regularly puts on a pair of running shoes and heads out to do a few miles.

Except, this morning was different. I headed out at 5:45 AM dressed head to toe in my cold-weather gear. I was about halfway into a 4-mile run, running alone on a path through the deserted park, watching a tugboat slowly crawl by on my right. The sun was just beginning to peek out over the water, the park was still and quiet and the only sound to be heard was the gentle slapping of my running shoes hitting the pavement. And for the first time since this whole running thing started, I felt like a real runner.

Maybe it was the new tights or maybe it was a fleeting one-time-only feeling. All I know is it took nine months to finally feel like a born runner. And it was a really good way to start the day.