Just run with it.

So still no running for this new author (if you can call me that) but the ankle is better, so maybe friday or saturday a good long run.  So back to my running past... somehow, sometime in 2003-2004 I started running, recreational running, and it stuck.  Somehow, somewhere, I decided to run a 5k, and then a half marathon, and it was still sticking.  It stuck so much, that I inspired my mom to start running, and both of us completed our first half marathon together....but more on that later.  I had discovered recreational running, and the joy of competing against nothing and no one.  I didn't have the pressure of the start line, or the tough workouts of a track practice: I could go as slow or as fast or as short or as long as I wanted, and no one told me to do it better or faster.  Actually, people in my family, and my non runner friends were impressed, and quite encouraging.

I remember my first "long" run (6 miles), and I remember it so well  because it was the first time I used running as an outlet, a stress reliever, and a feel better tool.  I had family in town visiting.  This particular great-aunt was as kind and giving as they come, BUT she was a disaster too.  She was pretty demanding, and a tiny bit picky about little things, and it all just snowballed that particular visit.  I remember: I had worked hard to clean the house for her, and washed sheets and bedding for her bedroom, went out and had food and milk and fresh fruit, clean towels, it was all set up.  When she got there, she asked me to put different sheets on the bed, because she didn't like the pattern on the sheets that were currently on the bed... and after I finished that, I said "I'll be back, I'm going for a quick run."

I laced up, had no water, music, or technical clothes (that will all come later, I was a real newbie at this point) and I started out the back field road, hanging a right at the top of the grassy hill next to the gutter headed toward the old Roger farm.  As I turned the corner past the old barn and the old Roger's place came into full view, I took a deep sigh of relief to have left home.  I continued toward old Shriver's place, a big, beautiful, sprawling, recreational dairy farm, and just kept thinking about how ridiculous my aunt was, and how much better it was to  be out running than dealing with her petty demands.  Some appreciation and gratitude for my work was all I wanted....not more work!

I hit the bridge at Jasontown Road, where normally I hung a right and did about a 3 mile loop, but at the last second I just turned left, crossed the bridge onto John Hyde Road, and started up the hill (later called the "Dick Shuffle Hill" by a dear running friend Nannette).  That hill SUCKED, and I almost turned around and went back, but then I remembered I had to go back to my aunt, so I kept pushing.  At the top of the hill, you look over into a shallow valley with a stream cutting through it, cattle, and an old quarry way in the back.  The stream sparkled in the early evening's setting sun, and the grass was just so green! I felt so damn glad to be alive, and healthy, and seeing that sight, that I charged down the hill and didn't realize what I was doing, distance-wise.  Eventually I got to the bottom (when had that happened? I was too busy watching the stream sparkle to pay attention to the road) and the intersection at Old New Windsor Road.  My first thought: "Oh shit Barnold, what HAVE you done?"

I estimated I had been running about 30 minutes (newbie = no watch) and that meant about 3 miles, and that meant about 3 miles back, and shit, I was NOT ready for a 6 mile run! And plus, if I turned around right then, I had to go BACK up that big old hill (In all my running, I did that only once, and that was lesson enough).  So... I thought, well, lets see where you end up, maybe it is shorter to make the loop.  So I hung a left onto Old New Windsor, and trotted along a pretty flat road with lovely rolling farms: cattle and grain farms.  Eventually I saw Roops Mill Road, and knew that it looped back to the bridge at John Hyde and Jasontown, so I headed that way.  Surrounded by fields, jogging down a gravel road, my bliss was suddenly disrupted when I realized I had a BITCH of a hill to climb in about 5 min....my breathing was heavy, my shoes and feet were KILLING me, but I made it.  I kept telling myself "come on Barnold, you can take this hill, stomp this bitch, just stomp this hill!"Ever since then, I get a hill, and I tell myself the same thing, and ever since then, I stomp out my hills.

The rest was down hill from there: seriously like a good mile of down hill.  I cruised along, next to the stream, and passed by some basset hounds baying out my trespass.  The stream and gravel road wove their way into a wooded trail, and it was incredibly peaceful with the birds chirping, stream gurgling, and my feet pounding, step after step.  Finally I came again to the bridge, feeling sore, but pretty proud, and realized I still had a mile or two to go... so I cut up Jasontown Road and in through the field road short cut to the farm.  The rest of the long weekend with my aunt: completely bearable, and any time I started to get frustrated, I remembered the feeling on my run, and post run.  After that run, I started to use the sport as my own personal therapist...which is awesome, because it is a LOT cheaper than a therapist.

The beginning of the running thoughts....

I’ve been toying with the idea of writing a book, a memoir, if you will, of all my running tales thus far in my short life.  Many nights are spent sleepless… in Seattle (I’ve always wanted to say that, and as a new resident of Seattle, WA, I finally can!) and so I’ve finally decided to put to good use the many hours of the night that I’m awake.  So instead of watching television, or reading, or doing any sort of work for school, I’ll start my book.  But the word BOOK, or NOVEL, just sounds completely intimidating.  Ridiculous for a math teacher to have the lofty goal of writing a BOOK, I say to my cat Henry, but anyone can blog.  And if someone actually takes interest in my blog, it is even better, without the major letdown of a failed book.  Henry meows back his agreement.

I started running in high school, just like any girl starts running in high school: there were cute boys on the track team.  For no other reason than that, I decided to join the indoor track winter of my sophomore year in 2001, because of the cutest senior in the whole school: Adam.  Every girl in the entire school knew Adam, and every girl wanted to be the one on his arm that month.  I thought my only chance at that eternal month of happiness was to run track, get to know him, snag him, and have that month of happiness.  Little did I know that the two seasons I spent with the Francis Scott Key High School track team that year would change who I was and shape my future into what it is today, and little did I know that running would be such a huge part of my life.

This week of my life: no running.  Saturday my love and I went for a little jog around my new, sleepless, city, and we came upon a sidewalk covered in leaves…dangerous territory for ANY runner, especially one like me, with horrible ankles.  And so it goes: I rolled my very bad left ankle in a pretty severe roll, to the point I could not finish running the run.  And so a week of no running…when you are not able to do something is when you want it the most.  Perhaps another reason to start my book, I mean, my blog, now… no running, no big deal, I’ll just write about it.

So I ran track for a year in high school, and I did get my month or two of complete and utter high school happiness on the arm of the cutest senior at school, but I HATED running track.  I was in wicked shape after the two seasons (indoor and outdoor) and I looked and felt fantastic, but I HATED the competition of track.  I hated the feel of butterflies at the start line, the feel of not ever running fast enough or good enough for my team, for myself, and track, mentally, left me exhausted and disgusted with my inability to be excellent at running.  I was not, nor am I to this day, a sprinter, but somehow, back in high school, I knew better than my running coach, and I refused to compete in any event longer than 800 meters.  My coach continually pushed me to run distance, saying I would do well in the mile or two mile if I put my mind to it, but that sounded like such a LONG distance (no one runs 2 miles and lives to tell the tale).  Had I listened to my coach, I may have found some success on the track team, but sticking with short sprints that my body type is not made for created a lack of success that played a tough game mentally on me.  I had always been successful: with my academics (high school valedictorian), with music, with church, with local 4-h, and so my first encounter with failure (or lack of perfection) wasn't easy. Track made me realize two things: I hated competition when I couldn’t actually compete well enough, and I really didn’t like running.  I decided to stick to what I was good at: academics, and stay away from the running and the cute seniors.  Not worth the emotional distress.

I spent my last year in high school focused on academics (and maybe another boy or two...) and got out of high school a year early, as a junior, and promptly started at the local college working on a BA in Mathematics with a minor in Secondary Education.  That was it: my whole life was mapped out.  I would meet a wonderful man in college, teach, have cute babies, and stay naturally thin and cute my whole life.  

So when did I start to realize running was a good thing? Was it when I gained just a few pounds freshman year of college, and was vain enough to put on the shoes and go for a run to justify the few pounds? Was it because my best friend, for 3 years of college, was a runner, and willing to go slower for me just to run with me?  Was it because I got it into my head sophomore year that I needed to be healthier and take better care of my body? I haven't a clue when I started running, but it was between freshman and sophomore year of college, sometime in that area.  And it clearly wasn't life altering, since I can't remember the first run since the miserable double track season.  But sometime, somewhere, I went for a run, and it stuck.