I found my running legs

I was born with a swimmer's body--a long, craning torso and compact, powerful legs. Naturally, I have a mean backstroke, but no matter where I run or how fast I run, I always feel like I'm running up a sand dune. And on a Monday in November I decided I was sick of my attitude. I stepped foot on a tredmill wearing my 7-year-old Mizunos, cranked it up to 7.0, and didn't even run a half mile until I felt the prickling, radiating pain of an old friend--shin splints. I remembered exactly why I hated this monotonous ritual.

I pushed it until I got to one mile and was in serious pain. There is no way I could do this. And then I remembered all the sissies I've known that have completed half marathons. I figured there had to be a cure for me, and I quickly realized the root of the problem was at the root of my body. The cushioning was worn down to tissue paper. I may as well have run barefoot. Within seconds, running shoes shot to the top of my Christmas list. Just one week later I found myself in a runner's paradise with my mother-in-law. Shoes were stacked high on the wall, perched like tropical birds with their striking colors. After learning that I walk with perfectly balanced weight on all the surfaces of my feet, I was assured that the shin splints were caused by nothing other than my lousy old shoes. I told the man who was helping me to pull down one of everything that would work for my arched feet. I had 13 boxes stacked in front of me and went to work. The first box had a pair of Mizunos that were the trendier version of what my father bought me as a young high school student. They would have done the job, but there is no way I was going to stop there with so many options in front of me.

I flipped open the lid of the second box and was hit by a fluorescent traffic sign of color. Dang it they were beautiful! It's strange how different shoes speak to different people. I'm sure plenty of people would grimace at the sight of this sexy pair of Brooks that spoke to me. I tied them to my feet and began to pounce like a begging poodle. I couldn't help it; they were so springy and light, and hugged my foot in all the right places, if you know what I mean. I jumped on the treadmill tucked in the corner of the store and ran, bumping the speed up every 10 seconds. I was an Olympian! ... and then I got tired.

Christmas morning couldn't come soon enough. It was a long month. I imagined myself running down State Street like an antelope in a stampede of minivans and four-doors.

On the second Monday in January I got all suited up and shoved a fist full of almond in my face for fuel. I even downed a few supplements to kick my endurance levels up a notch. I stood on the treadmill watching Vanna White make emerald boxes white with her fingertips. Nike spandex pants. Check. Tabbed socks. Check. Ear buds that don't fall out of my ears. Check. Breathable, razorback running top. Check. Ponytail with headband. Check. Kick-butt Brooks Glycerin rocket shoes. Check.

And so it began. I ran all the way through Wheel of Fortune. Not fast, mind you. I was running about 10.5 minute miles, but I was steady. When I started to get bored, I told myself that I can do anything in the world for five more minutes. I started to sweat, but was well-equipped with a clean hand towel draped across the hand bar. Before I knew it, Jeopardy was halfway done. I was afraid to see how far I'd gone, because I didn't want to feel like I had permission to stop. I guessed that I hadn't run very far and kept going. My knee started to grind on itself as it was unfamiliar with the rocking movement. It hurt, but not enough to stop. Every time I was about to hit the stop button, I would tell myself "you can do anything for five for minutes."

And I could. When I finally stopped I looked down and saw the digital numbers read 5.8. That night I didn't sleep, I hibernated. I'm not even sure I was breathing. Sleeping was luxurious.

A few weeks later it finally hit 50 degrees and I was ready for a real run. Just me, my music and the elements. I wore my '49ers T-shirt for good luck, strapped my Camelbak on and headed toward the lake. I was freezing at first and my legs started cramping up, but I kept running because I was listening to Black Betty, and you can't stop while listening to that song and still respect yourself. You just can't. I gave it another 10 minutes. In the middle of Vineyard, Utah, I was on a street so close to my house that I had never seen before. The chilly morning was sweet relief to my neck, underarms and forehead. I made it to a field of shriveled hay where the road stopped, but I kept running through the soft, yet slightly frozen mud. I ran until I reached a wall of reeds that looked like tall wheat. The antique cream color of the reeds against the freezing blue lake was striking. Mandolin Rain was soaring through my ear buds. I believe listening to songs that inspire you is just as effective as listening to fast-paced pop songs. I felt beautiful inside and out through all the sweat. It was quiet. Just me and the stillness by a vacant lake house on a deserted pathway.

I felt it. I understood a runner's love. My legs moved, I journeyed, I crossed train tracks four or five times and waved at passersby. My muscles were engaged; I felt every one of them. I enjoyed every refreshing sip of water from my Camelbak and dramatically mouthed the words to each song on my playlist. Together, the rhythm of my feet hitting asphalt, my inhales and my exhales, was a song of its own. Before I knew it, I was approaching my driveway. I looked down at my phone; 8.5 miles, and I could have kept going.

I felt shocked, then thrilled, then liberated. I remembered how just four months before I was telling people "I'm just not a runner." What I really should have said is "I'm just out of shape." I had to find what worked for me, and not compare my results to anyone else. Set goals and take them seriously, then figure out how you can make runs more tolerable. I only enjoy my runs at certain moments. It isn't the funnest thing I do every week, but it's one of the most rewarding. Start a run without expectation. Along the way, play a game with yourself to see how much farther you can go. Keep telling yourself "I can do anything for five more minutes," when your legs feel like lead. If you are treating your body right, I promise you will make it past the fifth minute.