I’m so tired of running.
If that sounds like a euphemism for facing some important life issue, I guess it is. What I mean, though, is I’m tired of long distance running.
I’ve had a on again off again relationship with running for the past thirty years, but we’ve been in a very committed relationship for the past decade or more. Over the past eleven years, I have run ten or eleven major races, including three marathons. Why go the distance? A little voice told me to. A little voice told me 5 and 10k were not a commitment. 21.1k was a real commitment – and 42.2k was marriage.
Like many marriages these days, I’m about to file for divorce.
While I can’t say I gave it my all and left it all on the course, I did finish. I’ve crossed that beeping finish line (seriously, in case you didn’t know, finish lines beep) and called a panting, sweaty end to our bond. I made a new vow – no more marathons.
During my race, I passed several signs along the way that I have seen in previous races and used to inspire me but now totally piss me off. If I actually had had the stamina and could spit out the words, here’s how I would have replied:
“Toenails are for sissies!”
Toenails are not for sissies, they’re for people. I am very attached to my toenails and I think we should stick together. Nevertheless, my toenails look like sissies right now.
“You’ve done dumber things when you’re drunk.”
True. Very true. I agreed to my first marathon when I was drunk so maybe it really is time to lay off the vino.
“Run like you stole something.”
I did. All my senses (and feeling below the waist).
“… because 42.3 kms would be crazy!”
Who’s you trying to kid?! 42.2 is crazy.
I love your endurance … call me!”
OK, but don’t touch me. I hurt all over.
“Your perspiration is my inspiration.”
“I’m sure it seemed like a good idea 4 months ago”
It did, but I changed my mind about three months ago.
I’m hobbling around for the next few days, clutching the banister for support. Why did I do this to myself? Maybe celebrating my 50th birthday last year made me think I should do another marathon, as kind of a midlife fitness double-dog dare. Maybe it’s because my brother has done countless marathons and I’m not mature enough to refrain from sibling rivalry. Maybe I was temporarily insane. I’m experiencing the opposite of that euphoric ‘runner’s high’. Whatever the reason, I’m done. I don’t want to run a marathon again. That marriage is over.
I am, however, totally up for a fling with a 5k, or a one-night stand with a 10k!