One more lap, I say to myself.
I chant the words repeatedly, over and over, trying to draw power from the phrase as if it were a prayer or an incantation.
Honestly, I'm only about a mile into the run. And it's not even a run. It's a jog. A trot, actually. I have been trotting for maybe ten minutes. My arms are swinging and my legs are constantly moving, but I'm hardly going faster than the old man in a red Adidas tracksuit power-walking around the track.
One more lap.
I want to like running. I really, truly do. All those stories about "runner's high" and "finding yourself in running" and "look, I got a six-pack because of how much I run" make me want to run so bad.
And I've tried. I really, truly have. I went and bought some $95 shoes from New Balance. I downloaded a "Runner's Playlist" from Spotify. I read Haruki Murakami's "What I Talk About When I Talk About Running." I even bought some nipple tape.
But I just can't. I can't even.
Mainly because it hurts. Everywhere. My legs hurt. My sides hurt. My chest hurts. Even my nipples hurt because I always forget to wear the nipple tape.
Everything hurts.
I'm probably not running properly.
Running is a hobby that I'll pick up every couple of years, try it for about a month or two, get really into it and then have to stop because I injure myself in one way or another. Shin splints or a twisted ankle or raw nipples (that's the last nipple joke, I swear).
The first time I tried to run was in high school. I had gained a few pounds through a series of pizzas. I asked my then-girlfriend to go running with me. We went to the track after school, tied our shoe laces and took off. After a lap and a half, we had to stop. I had a stitch in both sides (also known as exercise related transient abdominal pain) and I couldn't breath. After sucking in some air, I turned to her and asked how she was doing. She threw up on the track.
That about sums it up.
And yet, every few months, I get the urge to lace up and run. The entire time, I'm dreading it. I wake up and I think I don't want to run. I force myself out of bed and put on my shoes, thinking Stop it. I don't wanna. I will myself towards the front door, thinking NONONONONO. And, while I'm running, the only thing I can focus on is the pain and I'm constantly asking myself WHY.AM.I.DOING.THIS.
Call me a masochist.
But then, before I know it, I've gone three or four miles and I feel ok. Not good or great. Just ok. Calm. Relaxed. Content. It's as if through the act of running, I've expunged a toxin from my body. That's actually a perfect metaphor. It's like when you drink too much and the next day you're super hungover and you feel like crap, so then you vomit and you feel ok. Vomiting is like running and sometimes running leads to vomiting.
Purification through the act of running.
I was telling Delma the other day that writing is kinda like that. I get more pleasure from writing than I do from running, but there are days where I just have to force myself to do it. And if I go a few days without writing, an uncomfortable tension builds up inside of me. The pressure keeps mounting until I finally write something and then it's this great release. Like an orgasm. I attain a nice calm high for a day or two, but then the gnawing starts anew until I decide to write again. It won't stop until I write. I have to write.
I just described a drug addiction, didn't I?
Running. Writing. Black tar heroin.
It's all the same.
My best stretch of running was nine months. Enough time to have a baby. I ran four to six times a week during that time, about six miles each day. How, you ask?
Routine.
I'm a very routine-oriented person. Almost to the point of OCD. I have to do certain things each day or I feel off. Here's a list of my current morning routine:
5:45AM - Wake up.
6:00AM - Have breakfast. Four eggs with spinach and a cup of coffee. Every day.
6:15AM - Do the dishes. Pack my lunch.
6:30AM - Read. Currently, I'm reading 1Q84 (another Haruki Murakami book).
7:00AM - Write. Or try to write. More often than not, this time is spent on Reddit.
7:45AM - Gym.
8:30AM - Shower.
8:50AM - Meditate.
9:10AM - Get my stuff ready.
9:20AM - Bike to work.
If I don't do any of those in the morning, I feel uneasy the rest of the day. As if I forgot to turn off the stove. It's an uncomfortable feeling that I try to avoid at all costs. By making running part of that routine, I force myself to do it or else risk a general malaise that would haunt me throughout the day.
Running on a treadmill in an air-conditioned room also made it a lot easier.
Routine is comforting to me. I wish it wasn't. I hate that I feel off if I don't do all of those things. Again, it's like a drug. If smokers don't smoke, they get crabby. If you don't have your morning cup of caffeine, you get a headache. If I don't do my morning routine, I get testy.
It restricts what I can do some days. And just generally takes a lot of time. But at least it's a somewhat productive routine, right?
I wish I was a poutine-oriented person instead of a routine-oriented person.
But then I'd be fat.
Which is the main reason I run.
Body image issues, y'all.
Maybe I should just switch over to black tar heroin. It's probably easier than running.
And at least that way I wouldn't get raw nipples.
NOTE: I have not tried black tar heroin, nor do I condone its use. Don't do drugs, kids.
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