Running Glory and Humiliation
How a jogger/runner found happiness during every run. Except one
Clumsy with no depth perception, I quickly learned running track was the one sport where I could succeed. In basketball I’d fly down court to play offense, but I’d never make it back down the court again to play defense. When I watched my athletic daughter play basketball I wasn’t counting rebounds, I was amazed she could run back and forth effortlessly.
I’ve run since the 4th grade, and when I moved to snowy, cold Wisconsin I ran in the winter with the boys team out of boredom. A sprinter by nature, I placed in high school track meets for the 200 and long jump, and that was just fine. I was the girl who dropped out of track the second I made the spring play. As in theater. I did this while on Varsity track both years. Anyway…
When it became evident that a post-baby body would require cardio, and we were too poor to pay a gym membership, I decided to join my husband in running. On days when my husband worked very late I would head up to the local high school, place my one year old in the sand pit and jog around the track.
I spent most of my time reassuring her that mommy was coming to get her, and after a few laps she decided playing in the sand was fun. This was eons ago when it was a safer world.
I’d try to be dressed and ready to run out the door the second my husband came home from work, but it made him always have the late run, and we didn’t live in the best area of the city. Milwaukee. So we took turns, and one night I knew thunderstorms were heading our way, so I begged to go first, but it was the husband’s turn.
He left for what felt like the most leisurely four mile run he’s ever taken, and I stressed about not getting my run in. Runner’s high is real, and being cooped up with a toddler for company all day made me despreate to get away and run. I felt the stress leave me the moment my breathing cadence began.
Except that one evening with a storm looming I faced a choice. Stay or go, so I ignored the rising winds and headed the only safe direction we could run: west. Into the looming dark clouds. So I rationalized I would turn around at the first sign of lightning. The sky flashed white. I kept going.
Well, I’ll turn around if I see forked lightning. Not even two more blocks and the lightning crackled across the sky, branching off in many directions, and I heard a loud rumble. But if I turned around there I’d have less than a three mile run in, and my base has always been three, so I kept going.
You know what happened, don’t you? I did make it 1.5 miles out, but by then the black clouds were upon me and I turned around quickly, thinking I could outrace a storm. Almost immediately after my turn around the rain fell in sheets, and I must have been soaked to the skin in 30 seconds.
When the hail started pummeling me it hurt. I felt like an idiot, though I tried to push the blame onto my hardworking husband. If only he had let me go first, he was the faster runner. He could have made it back in time. I wouldn’t have gone four miles! No. I’d have been kind (ha) and stopped at three (I wouldn’t have either).
I ran past all the little houses in humiliation. I wondered if anyone looked out and saw me running in squishy shoes, wetter than I have ever been, even when swimming, hurting from the hail that kept hitting me all over, and did they think I was enjoying my run through a potential tornado. (No threat of that happened, except in my poor-me thoughts.)
I did feel stupid. I didn’t feel super dedicated to running. I felt super stupid, because who heads out into a storm to get in a measly three miles?
Why didn’t I stay home and ride our ultra cheap stationary bike?
The sky lightened by the time I made the turn onto 67th Street. I was met at the door with a thick towel and a grinning husband. He wanted to know if I had enjoyed my run. There was no way in hell I’d admit to feeling utterly miserable for half of that time.
So honey, if you’re reading this, I lied and you knew it. I most certainly did not enjoy that run, but I would never have admitted it to you. Especially with you smiling.
I don’t think my husband ever ran in a thunderstorm, and it never hailed on him ever. Then again, who heads out when it’s lightning and thundering?
Damn, I didn’t even get to the part where I ran next to a juggler. For five miles. Ah, well, maybe next time. And remember, running in the rain can be beautiful. Running in hail? Not so much.
