Couch to 5K: Almost there
JO’GGER n. s. [from jog.] One who moves heavily and dully.
They, with their fellow joggers of the plough. Dryden.
—Samuel Johnson, A Dictionary of the English Language, 1755
Tomorrow is the last practice run before the 5K this Saturday evening. So it’s a still sort of moment, the quiet before a big event. Reflective, as in, “Holy crap, I can’t believe how far we’ve come and how much we rule!”
Last week began with me ably demonstrating Dr. Johnson’s definition of a jogger, except I would add to it “gasping and wheezing.” The camaraderie of my fellow joggers has made all the difference on those rough mornings. I’ve found that intensive pre-jog stretching focused on the neck and shoulders (lifelong repository of angst—and there’s been plenty) has made the difference between a rough morning and a slightly improved passage of oxygen to the lungs.
Or maybe it’s all in my head? How much of it is mental? External distractions and successful mind tricks certainly mark the better days.
Last Saturday was one. To prepare for the elevation change in the 5K course, R and I left the track behind and instead ran all the way up the hill to the hospital—without feeling compelled to check ourselves in.
And yesterday was another:
0630-0702
32 minutes
“Me and Mia”–”Shake the Sheets”
11 laps
~2.75 miles
~4.4 kilometers
…jogged without stopping, and finished hard! Shake the Sheets is a crazy wonderful high.
July 17th, 2008 at 9:11 pm
Um, yeah… I ran once since I registered for the 5K a couple weeks ago. So, pretty much the opposite of your dedication and discipline. See you at the finish line…I hope!
July 18th, 2008 at 11:38 am
Let me just share my memories, since your body tends to act a lot like mine in salient ways. The first mile I whined, moaned, gasped, and hated Wanda who was cruising effortlessly beside me. My theme song? “WHAT was I thinking? How could I forget how much this hurts?” Mile 2 I hit my stride, relaxed, settled in, head up, shoulders loose, enjoyed the hose spray and waved at the admiring throng. Not running, really. Jogging. Waddling. Mile 3 Wanda whined, moaned, and gasped beside me as I shifted into “let’s kick this bad boy’s ass, baby” and started my sprint (I use the term loosely) for the finish. Always a quarter mile too soon. Utter collapse and the finish line, hand in hand, followed eventually by euphoria and a lot of water.
You will live, remind yourself of this vital fact. If you can find the strength to let go of the anxiety and the fear so that your muscles that are working burn the available oxygen instead of the muscles that are worrying (neck, face, shoulders, fists, stomach busy tying half hitches), you will enjoy it more. Even I can jog a 5k. Remember it’s not a term paper. Remember that I’m with you, rubbing your neck, petting your hair, quietly proud of my fine athlete. Remember when you are not satisfied that (as I told my Dad when he bitched about my roofing skills) you are a gymnast. The beam is not 5k long.