Why did I sign up for a 15-mile run when I’d never run further than 5 miles ever?

Well, I was inspired by my husband’s two skating marathons this summer and also by Kay, who’s in the Iron Girl Duathlon coming up.

But really, it was a second glass of wine one evening that sent me over the edge. And so, it came to pass that while looking online for something I could train for (and survive!), I rashly signed up for the City of Lakes 15-mile race.

“Don’t drink and register!” warned Kay. Too late.

And that’s how I ended up on the southwest corner of Lake Harriet Sunday morning, along with more than 1,000 other runners of all ages, shapes and sizes.

My husband, who is as diligent as I am impulsive, had found me a program to follow on MarathonRookie.com. Only it was a 10-week program and I had five.

No sweat! I already ran several miles three times a week. I run the way I swim, with enjoyment, at my own granny pace, never pushing. I use the time to think. I figured all I needed was to add one long run in the weekend.

My real goal was to lose the final three pounds of pregnancy fat I’ve been carrying around for almost three years. Then I read what MarathonRookie had to say: Examine your goals. If your goal is to lose weight, you will FAIL. Oh.

I must say, the potential for public humiliation was a great motivator for training.

Each time I ran longer - 8 miles, 11 miles, 13 miles! - I felt a rush of achievement. When the day of the race finally dawned, my goal was no longer just to finish. It was, er, to not finish last.

I read “What I talk about when I talk about running,” a book by my fave Japanese novelist, Haruki Murakami. After he gave up operating a jazz bar and began writing novels full time, Murakami said, he needed a way to keep the flab at bay. So he began running marathons, one each year. Once, for a magazine article, he ran the original marathon route in Greece alone in the brutal heat of August, a van bearing a photographer following him the entire way.

While there’s little similarity between Murakami - 50-something celebrity Japanese novelist - and me - 37-year-old Minneapolis mom trying to fit into my pre-preg clothes - I was nevertheless inspired.

Sept. 7 came. The weather couldn’t have been more perfect - 54 degrees.

By the time I got to the start of the race, there were already several lines about 20 people deep in front of the row of green Porta Potties.

I took my rightful place with the most leisurely group of all, the ones with a slower than 9-minute mile pace. (In fact, my usual pace is a glacial 11-minute mile, but don’t tell anyone.)

I felt a little awkward, like the girl who arrived at a party where she knew no one. I pretended to stretch, like everyone else around me seemed to be doing.

Right at 8am, we were off!

I felt pretty good the first five miles or so, passing a fair number of people. Then it started to feel not so enjoyable. After the 10th mile, my hips hurt and the arches of my feet ached. My right foot started to chafe. Argh, this is supposed to be fun?

White-haired runners with surprisingly young-looking legs zipped past me.

The ones that annoyed me most were those who just couldn’t stop talking. Two women discussed their kids’ first week in kindergarten. A couple of others wondered aloud about voter turnout for the presidential election.

“I have no cartilage in my left knee,” one guy volunteered to the stranger beside him. “I shouldn’t even be doing this crap.”

Shut up! Do I really need to hear this?

“How did you avoid getting arrested as an anarchist in St Paul?” asked one guy of his running partner, who replied: “I wore a mask. A Sarah Palin mask.”

Bad enough that I was huffing and puffing, I really didn’t need to know that others were capable of carrying on breezy conversations while passing me.

In the final mile, my feet started to feel like wood. I’d had only a banana for breakfast and was starving.

Finally, the finish was in sight.

My husband and two girls were waving and cheering. I sped up.

I came in 290th amongst the 378 women. My time was 2 hours 28 minutes and 13 seconds.

For my troubles, I got a chocolate chip cookie, a beer stein and a t-shirt.

In the first painful minutes after the run, I wondered why I’d ever do that again. But before the day was through, I’d changed my mind.

MarathonRookie was right. I didn’t lose any weight.

But I feel great. And I’m already looking forward to the next race.

This entry was posted on Thursday, September 11th, 2008 at 10:05 am and is filed under Health. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.