Adventures of a Novice Runner (This is Fun WHY Exactly?)

Up until a couple weeks ago, the most I knew about running was 1)it's not my thing and 2)runners are those nutty people on the side of the road who I'm not supposed to hit with my Honda CR-V that seems to have no problems hitting anything else that wanders into it's path.  Did I mention I have a good relationship with my collision shop?  But I digress.

I recently reconnected with a friend from high school who I hadn't seen in almost 30 years.  After hugs, niceties and a delicious lunch, she shared with me her experiences running a marathon.  Now let me explain: the idea of running a marathon is foreign... no, ALIEN to me.  In my small brain, the only reasons someone would want to run 26.2 miles are their army really needs reinforcements and all other forms of sending a message are down or they are being chased by a very hungry and tenacious woodland creature.  That's really all I could come up with.

Don't get me wrong.  I know a few runners who are more than happy to tell me about the adrenaline and endorphin release they get from running a bunch of miles.  Some of them even strike me as being relatively normal and productive members of society.  I listened with rapt attention as one runner friend described the NYC Marathon as the "closest experience he'll ever have to being a rock star."  As someone who has played drums in a band, this sounds a little intriguing.  But I also remember fondly my days as a competitive swimmer with a coach who had a penchant for cross training.  Laps in the pool, cool.  Negative reps in the weight room, ok.  Running laps in the basement of my high school?  Well, what I remember mostly about that was chanting in cadence to my footfalls "I love to swim.  I hate to run."

But I also kinda figured I have this little personality quirk that thinks it's cool to do things that other people say "there's no way I could ever do that" so I figured "what the heck?  I mean, how bad could it be, right?"

And so far, surprisingly, it hasn't been so bad.  I've learned a thing or two about shoes.  I've been reading some funny stuff from a writer named Robert Schwartz who somehow is able to tell you how bad what you're getting into is going to be but somehow makes you look forward to it (if you haven't already, you should check him out!) and I'm following the training plan of one Hal Higdon who, with my great & motivational training partner, almost has me believing that I might actually be able to do this if I follow these simple steps.

We'll see.

So, a funny story about my training partner.  She's a great coach and motivator who actually has me a little stoked about this running thing.  OK, that's not the funny part (well, maybe it is).  But she is.  Anyway, a week or so ago we were setting up the week's training schedule while sitting in a bar watching sunday football with a bunch of folks, one of whom happens to be a runner (a much faster runner than me, it turns out, because when we went out for my first trail run the other day, as much as I tried to keep a reasonable and comfortable pace, my first two miles went out at just over 9:50.  It only sucked a little) and a lesbian.  But this is supposed to be about my great running partner who, it turns out, is a little protective of her little novice running project.  Because there we are watching the Buffalo Bills actually winning a game and my friend mentions she needs someone to run.  Since one of the things I've already learned about running is that so far I prefer not to run alone, I say "Sure!  I'll go with you."  Next thing I know, I'm hearing from my great training partner from across the room "WHAT?!? You can't run with her!!  She runs for the OTHER TEAM!!!"

OK.  Maybe you had to be there.  It was funny at the time.  And before any running purists read this and say "Wait!  What are you doing in a bar consuming all those useless calories?", remember: I'm new.

So, the run with my other running friend went ok, except for the sub-10 minute miles, the hills and almost getting hit by a deer (Hell... I figured I was safe.  I wasn't driving the Honda.  Who knew?)  Nothing some naproxen, a couple liters of water and a long hot shower couldn't cure.

And then there was this morning.  It's late November in western NY.  I looked out the window and said "hmmmm. Cloudy.  And the road is wet."  The weather guy on the radio said it was 41F and it might rain.  And I still can't find my keycard that allows me entry into the YMCA where they keep the treadmills indoors.  So I figure, how bad could it be?  Grab a bite to eat, drink a bunch of water, pour a to-go cup of coffee, layer up, kiss my lovely wife goodbye (not the permanent kind of goodbye, but with this running thing, I suppose one can never be sure) and head to the reservoir that sits atop the big hill to put in my solo run.  Wool hat... check.  Gloves... check.  iPod... check.  Off I go.

I get to the site and think to myself, "well, at least it isn't raining (this, folks, is a literary device I once learned about in school called foreshadowing).  This won't be so bad."  Do my stretches like a good novice runner should, set my iPod to shuffle (some tasty Allman Brothers... nice!) and off I go.  As I start out, I see a couple gazelles in gore tex on the other side of the reservoir and think to myself "they should be overtaking me any second" but it's ok because I bet they were new runners once too.  A long time ago.  I won't worry about it.  As I come around the SE side of the reservoir, I say to myself "wow, that's a brisk wind.  But at least it's not raining."  My iPod transitions to some steel drum music from a dive trip to Tobago a couple years ago and I think to myself "not the easist music to run to but it'll work.  And then... guess what?  RAIN!  Forest Gump sideways rain!  For whatever reason, my iPod took it upon itself to stop shuffling and so there I was (quick recap): 41F, windy, rain, listening to a Tobago steel pan band playing their rendition of "La Vida Loca" and some others as I completed my run.  You know what?

I was almost convinced I was actually on a dive trip in the southern caribbean.

Almost.