I didn’t come to enjoy running naturally. It was forced on me in my teens by angry store clerks trying to chase down my punk shoplifting thug-butt (eventually, I learned the hard way that this “pursuit” was something I should probably discontinue).Let me back up. I did run a fair bit as a little girl, with that same joyous abandon most kids experience. Until one day, my dad, who was a world class track athlete and coach, challenged me to a race. Naturally, he didn’t let me win, preferring to teach me to get tough through experiencing bitter disappointment (still trying to puzzle out that lesson). But he did pass on some, er, dubious, advice: during a race, run as hard as you can and keep running, even if it hurts. As seven-year-olds are some of the wisest people on the planet, me being no exception, I thought to myself, “Are you smoking crack, dear father of mine? Why would I intentionally do something that hurts?” Okay, granted, I didn’t really know what crack was, but you get the idea. Hence, my dearth of running until my teens when not paying for cigarettes and Doritos was more appealing than, well, paying for them, and I undertook my short-lived grocery store sprinting career.After giving up the shoplifting and the smoking, I kept running when I had to, but I never really got that sense of pleasure from it that hardcore runners tell you about. Still, I had some of the greatest running mixed tape compilations for my Walkman ever made (for anyone reading this who was born after 1990, a Walkman was a small, portable tape player that preceded iPods and Zunes. What’s that? What’s a tape? Uh, nevermind...).So why do I run now? A person with my woefully short attention span can't be limited to just one physical activity, and I need something to supplement roadbiking. I choose running because it is much less dangerous than mountainbiking, a sport that requires both balance and the ability to think while moving at speeds that exceed 30mph, all the while dodging killer rocks and roots, stumps and fence posts, cacti and branches, and...you get the idea. I’m enough of a hazard
(see photo) to myself on two legs; add speed and an elevated center of gravity, combined with all of the “gifts” of Mother Nature, and I’m pretty much a rolling corpse on a mountain bike.The other reason, however, is more sublime. I’ve never been fast, but somewhere along the line, I learned to enjoy the consistent rhythm of running. Apparently my endorphin glands finally hit a growth spurt when I quit sky diving and my adrenalin glands withered. Human-powered sports, including roadbiking, backpacking, and rockclimbing, have always felt right to me, and running fosters such an epic sense of freedom and resiliency. Getting somewhere under your own steam and having the time and opportunity to enjoy the sights and sounds as you go is truly one of the best feelings you can't buy in stores. It’s not unlike writing a book or a short story; there is a lot of suffering and self-doubt as you move along the continuum towards the end, but when you get there, you feel like shouting for joy and hugging a complete stranger, even if they smell kinda bad. Endorphins, baby, blame the endorphins.Which all leads to the reason for this post. I hadn’t planned on blogging again until next year, but suddenly this winter, I found myself questioning my toughness (damn you, dear father). You see, it’s frickin’ cold here. COLD, and I’d all but quit running. As an illustration, I ran the Continental Divide Trail Run in Steamboat Springs in August—sixteen miles of suffering through some of themost gorgeous scenery to ever behold—and have run a grand total of twenty or so miles since. Yep. In my defense, I have the most wicked new bike trainer ever, which has been getting some extreme use, so it’s not as if I’ve been a total slacker.But I couldn’t do it; I couldn’t live with being confined to the indoors due to the potential for a little tiny bit of frostbite. I mean c’mon, if Beck Weathers could lose most of both arms and feet, and his nose to the cold, what’s losing feeling in my hands for a few hours? So I convinced a couple of friends—I’ll call them the Cruiser and the Torpedo—to come suffer in the frigid temps with me during the Littleton Winter Distance Series. I’ll post summaries ofthese races as they occur.Plus, I needed some more t-shirts. First race is December 17th, so I better go run.
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