I’m Back In The Saddle (Again)
Last Sunday I began my latest running campaign. I’ve talked about running here before and how I’m somewhat of a Special Needs runner. But I still feel compelled to run. Mostly it’s because I feel the need to be outside, alone, not thinking.
And it’s easy to not think about anything when I’m struggling to breathe. From the moment I start running I really only have one thought, which is, “When can I stop running?”
As I’m building up my running mojo, I run in intervals. This is because I’m kinda weak, have never been a good distance runner (I used to break out in hives when we had to run the mile in gym class for the Presidential Fitness Award testing), I get strange cramping in my, um, Lady Equipment if I push it too hard, too fast, I have crunchy knees… Basically, it’s like I’m 65, not 35. OK, 36. Which is why I loved running in The Villages (my parents’ retirement community) over Christmas. No one judged! Maybe because no one else goes running. People waved at me from their golf carts and probably thought I was an awesome runner. Which I’m not.
But I’m determined.
On Sunday it was beautiful outside and I ran on Minnehaha Parkway because I knew that the lakes would be super crowded with strolling friends and couples, bikers and Running Dicks. Running Dicks are the guys between about 35-55 who have been running for years, wear the full Running Costume and talk in loud volume to each other as they run (usually in packs of three or more) about past races they’ve competed in or about work. The conversation has to revolve around a test of willpower, strength, stamina and power.
“Oh, I ran that marathon. I had a heart attack at mile 20 but I still finished!”
“So I said to the guy, ‘Listen, I’ve done all the work on this project and I’m not going to let you take credit for it!”
“I couldn’t feel my legs anymore. It was great!”
“Man, if you’re not running the Prairie 1000 you’re not a real runner!”
“Don’t call her for at least two weeks!”
Running Dicks DO NOT MOVE for anyone. It doesn’t matter if they are running five abreast, it’s your job to get the hell out of their way. They own the path. Running Dicks are only slightly less irritating than Biking Dicks but I won’t get into that here.
So back to the Parkway. There I was, just huffing along in my strange running costume (more about that in a minute), just me and the overweight woman with a big bag of birdseed who stopped at every other tree to unload some of her cargo. Why do people think birds need birdseed in the middle of a wooded area? What do they think birds do without benevolent bird lovers like them? Starve to death? “Oh, there’s nothing to eat in the middle of all these seed-bearing bushes! I might as well just sit on this branch and die!” But I didn’t have the heart to tell the woman she was really probably feeding the mice. Mice need to eat, too, I guess.
As I was running along, a middle-aged woman came barreling down a set of steps that go down to the path I was on. Then I could hear her right behind me. I stopped running and walked for awhile and I could hear her behind me but she wouldn’t pass me. Then we got to a stoplight and I waited for the light to change but she ran right across, darting through traffic. Maybe I’m imagining things but I feel like she just couldn’t bear the thought of passing me on the path, as if that would be rude or something, and so had to take her life into her hands and take her chances with the cars in order to get ahead of me. Then I saw her doing an odd hunched shuffle down an icy slope on the path, knees bent at this strange angle, trying to get down without slowing her pace.
Then the light changed and I ran past her. I guess sometimes I can be a Running Dick, too.
Although you’d never know it to look at me. I got some new running tights but I’d kind of rather die than wear them on their own (small comfort – I was able to buy the large not the extra-large!) so I put a pair of blue cotton pants over them. These pants aren’t really sweatpants and they’re not really yoga pants. They’re pants one could wear to clean the bathroom. They allow that stree-eee-tch around the toilet to get that weird scum hiding behind the pedestal. They are the kind of pants a mom might wear to a 2K Walk To Fight The Epstein-Barr Virus.
Then I had on a biking jacket I got at Target, a t-shirt from an old Phone-athon for a Catholic school and a wool hat. And sunglasses. And my really worn out running shoes, which got soaked when I had to run through an enormous puddle of icy water. My Running Dick friends would have sent me home to change.
But, I made it. And I finished with a jog up the steps the middle-aged woman came down. Next time I’m going to run more steps. Why? I have no idea. I guess because they are there and while I’m running them I only have to think, “When do I get to stop running them?” and because by August I’m going to be running the lakes and yelling out to all the Running Dicks, “ON YOUR LEFT!!!” as I go gliding past.
I still think your winter running costume is more dignified than mine.
You’re my hero. I no longer run around the lakes at all because of the Running Dicks. It isn’t worth the risk of injury! I cringe when I see them coming towards me, should-to-shoulder, ready to plow over anyone who gets in their way. I usually have some nice curse words saved up for them as they run by. Perhaps we should try tripping as a deterrent?
There are some routes for avoiding Running Dicks that are better than others. I’ve found that Running Dicks don’t really like the Parkway in Mpls that much but they love them some lake running. This is because more people will see them and fear them at the lakes. More people will hear their loud conversations about races they’ve run. So there’s always the Parkway (look out for Biking Dicks!)