It seems the need for frequent bathroom breaks while running is kind of a girl thing. My husband -we'll call him Flash (it was his nickname in college because he's so fast) says he's never experienced the urge while running. Yet, you talk to a woman about it, and it's - "Oh, yeah... that's just what happens to me!" Crazy Ass and I completely see eye to eye on this one. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that maybe it's a mommy thing. I have a theory that all of the muscles down there are thinking "Gee, the last time we worked this hard, we were pushing out a 7 and half pound hunk of human flesh... Hey guys, we're having a baby! Push! Push! Push!"
But this post is not about the urge. Actually, I want to talk about pancakes. (How's that for a segway?) I have decided that running is like pancakes. No, I'm serious. Hear me out. When I make a batch of pancakes, the first one is always screwed up. It generally turns into a gooey, deformed glob - more resembling a toddler's play dough creation than something you would want to ingest. I usually end up throwing it out. Strangest thing, though. The rest of the pancakes turn out to be things of beauty... perfectly golden brown and smooth. I gloat as I slide them onto my kids' plates, "Call me Aunt Jemima!" They could film a commercial as the kids ooze the syrup out onto my works of art.
I have to tell you, my first mile of running is a lot like my first pancake. I get out there and start turning over my legs, thinking, "Is this what running is supposed to feel like? Do I look like a dork, here? What are my arms supposed to do? Oh, this song is no good. Where is my water? Ugh, this shoe is too loose. This shoe is too tight. My knee hurts. Are we done yet?" You get the idea. It's amazing I ever got past the first mile, right? Here is a fact: the only reason I ever did is because of Crazy Ass. As I run that first mile, I think "No way am I gonna let Crazy Ass down! She really wants to do this! Look at her arms pumping next to me. Listen as her feet rhythmically hit the pavement. No, I have to keep my butt moving. I might actually look like a complete dork, but I have to keep running."
By mile two, an amazing thing has happened. My stride has evened out. My breathing is in perfect time with each footstep. I feel like I am gliding, like a gazelle in African savannah. The breeze tickles the hair on the back of my neck. I can hear Chariots of Fire playing inside my head. Ok, I'll say it: They could make a Nike commercial out of this.
Miles 2 through whatever are much like those smooth, golden pancakes that miraculously appear on my griddle after I've burnt my thumb, cursed the breakfast gods and tossed Pancake Number One into the trash. So you know what I say about Mile One? Throw it out. It doesn't count. Just get past it and enjoy the remaining glorious miles of your run.
Um, ok. So if my first mile doesn't count, does that mean I have to add a mile to my run? Well... Maybe. But the real point is - don't stop running just because your first mile sucks! Because the first mile... well, sometimes it sucks, and the rest of the time it's just not as good as the rest of them.
Case in point: I ran my best 10K of my life last Fall at a local race. When I say best 10K, I mean like 2 minutes per mile faster than my best pace. How did I achieve this? Why, completely by accident, of course! My youngest daughter was running the one mile fun run, which took place before the 10K. Using a power that only an adorable six year old girl has, she got me to run the whole thing with her. We jogged some, we ran some, we walked some... All while I held her hand and bent down saying "You can do it!" As I was running to the finish of her fun run, a wall of people was suddenly coming toward me. Thanks to a warning from Flash, I realized they were my fellow 10K runners! My race was starting! I immediately turned around and joined the front of the pack. I was all warmed up, at the front of the pack, and I just kept on running. Like smooth, golden pancakes, the rest of my run was a thing of beauty.
I am convinced I couldn't have run that 10K nearly as well if I hadn't done the fun run. That fun run was my first pancake... The one I threw away to prepare for my batch of fast miles that were to follow. The best reward? The pancake breakfast that followed, served up hot by a local boy scout troop!
So don't worry too much about that first mile. Keep on running, my friends. Your pancakes await.
But this post is not about the urge. Actually, I want to talk about pancakes. (How's that for a segway?) I have decided that running is like pancakes. No, I'm serious. Hear me out. When I make a batch of pancakes, the first one is always screwed up. It generally turns into a gooey, deformed glob - more resembling a toddler's play dough creation than something you would want to ingest. I usually end up throwing it out. Strangest thing, though. The rest of the pancakes turn out to be things of beauty... perfectly golden brown and smooth. I gloat as I slide them onto my kids' plates, "Call me Aunt Jemima!" They could film a commercial as the kids ooze the syrup out onto my works of art.
I have to tell you, my first mile of running is a lot like my first pancake. I get out there and start turning over my legs, thinking, "Is this what running is supposed to feel like? Do I look like a dork, here? What are my arms supposed to do? Oh, this song is no good. Where is my water? Ugh, this shoe is too loose. This shoe is too tight. My knee hurts. Are we done yet?" You get the idea. It's amazing I ever got past the first mile, right? Here is a fact: the only reason I ever did is because of Crazy Ass. As I run that first mile, I think "No way am I gonna let Crazy Ass down! She really wants to do this! Look at her arms pumping next to me. Listen as her feet rhythmically hit the pavement. No, I have to keep my butt moving. I might actually look like a complete dork, but I have to keep running."
By mile two, an amazing thing has happened. My stride has evened out. My breathing is in perfect time with each footstep. I feel like I am gliding, like a gazelle in African savannah. The breeze tickles the hair on the back of my neck. I can hear Chariots of Fire playing inside my head. Ok, I'll say it: They could make a Nike commercial out of this.
Miles 2 through whatever are much like those smooth, golden pancakes that miraculously appear on my griddle after I've burnt my thumb, cursed the breakfast gods and tossed Pancake Number One into the trash. So you know what I say about Mile One? Throw it out. It doesn't count. Just get past it and enjoy the remaining glorious miles of your run.
Um, ok. So if my first mile doesn't count, does that mean I have to add a mile to my run? Well... Maybe. But the real point is - don't stop running just because your first mile sucks! Because the first mile... well, sometimes it sucks, and the rest of the time it's just not as good as the rest of them.
Case in point: I ran my best 10K of my life last Fall at a local race. When I say best 10K, I mean like 2 minutes per mile faster than my best pace. How did I achieve this? Why, completely by accident, of course! My youngest daughter was running the one mile fun run, which took place before the 10K. Using a power that only an adorable six year old girl has, she got me to run the whole thing with her. We jogged some, we ran some, we walked some... All while I held her hand and bent down saying "You can do it!" As I was running to the finish of her fun run, a wall of people was suddenly coming toward me. Thanks to a warning from Flash, I realized they were my fellow 10K runners! My race was starting! I immediately turned around and joined the front of the pack. I was all warmed up, at the front of the pack, and I just kept on running. Like smooth, golden pancakes, the rest of my run was a thing of beauty.
I am convinced I couldn't have run that 10K nearly as well if I hadn't done the fun run. That fun run was my first pancake... The one I threw away to prepare for my batch of fast miles that were to follow. The best reward? The pancake breakfast that followed, served up hot by a local boy scout troop!
So don't worry too much about that first mile. Keep on running, my friends. Your pancakes await.
1 comment:
I can't comment using my Google account because THAT WOULD BE CRAZY. I just wanted to tell you that I love your analogy and now I want pancakes.
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