I Run, Therefore I Am (Crazy)

She's done it again. My oldest sister, Angie, conned me into - I mean, persuaded me to commit to training for a half marathon. Not to mention the actual running of the race with the expectation of finishing part. Oh, yeah, and coughing up 65 bucks to do it. Seriously? Who pays to run? (The definition of "run" in this sense being "to put yourself through unnecessary, grueling torture for an extended period of time. . . in running shoes"). Apparently I pay to run, in more ways than one.

First, I may need to provide a bit of background. My relationship with running has gone a little something like this:

(Somewhere around the age of 12ish)
I hate you running. I can't fathom why anyone would like you.

(Age 14-17)
I still hate you running, but I'll tolerate the smallest amount of you to get a good grade in P.E. But don't expect me to like it!

About this time I asked for Billy Blanks' Tae Bo videos for Christmas. I punched and kicked and round-housed (double time!) like nobody's business. We were as tight as his ridiculous and uncomfortably revealing uni-tards. But it was pretty great. It seemed running would never show it's face again until...

(Freshman year at Ricks College)
Running calls and I say I'm busy. Calls back later and I say I sprained my ankle in volleyball. Calls a third time and I'm out with Billy. (These are all real reasons, by the way) I don't hear from Running for a while until it catches me off guard and corners me. This was before I learned the art of saying kindly but firmly, "No, but thanks for asking" and Running and I go out. Hm. Not as bad as I thought. We go out a few more times and my vicious hatred begins to lessen...

(Age 20-23)
Running follows me to BYU. It becomes so persuasive that I decide to sign up for my first 5K. I thought I was going to DIE (as depicted below)



When I reached what I thought was the last home stretch into the gate of the track and field area on campus, I mustered that last bit of strength in me and sprinted to the end. Come to find out there was still one lap around that evil black track to finish. I felt like I could barely walk but somehow managed to heave myself across the finish line, yet not without cursing that last 1/4 of a mile surprise. But once the misery (and string of curses) ended, something happened: the pain quickly morphed into relief . . . then satisfaction . . . and finally an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. Kim, the non-runner that I was, actually ran a whole 3.1 miles without stopping. A feat I had never imagined in my life, nor ever wanted to imagine, for that matter. But it was a turning point.. or really, a starting point, for the road ahead.

Over the next few years, I continued to run a few 5k/10k races here and there, ran outside in the summer and on the treadmill at the gym in the winter. Keep in mind, I never loved the act of running (it felt like torture every time) but enjoyed the feeling afterwards and overall fitness it provided. As Angie continued to run more and more until she trained for and ran her first marathon, the thought of me ever running 26.2 miles was complete craziness -- a thing only real runners do who really love running. My running was more like a slightly-quicker-than-a-stroll at best. But I did it for the exercise and that was good enough for me.

Fast forward to now. I've got a few more little races under my belt (some 5ks, 10ks, a relay marathon completed with all my four sisters (five miles each), and *gasp* one Salt Lake City Half Marathon in 2008, thank-you-very-much). I kind of oscillate between running consistently and working out at the gym. About two months ago, Angie called me up to see if I was interested in running the Canyonlands Half Marathon in Moab this March. Somewhere in my mind the echo of my 12-year-old loathing softly played out. But then I surprised myself: I said "yes". And not just a "Well... I guess I could think of maybe, possibly considering it... meehh" I said "Sure, I think I'd like that" and I meant it. Who is this? Who have I become? Part of my 12-year-old in me died (not without an "I'm meeeeeltiiiing!" -esque screech) but I think it's a good thing. No, I KNOW it is.

What else teaches me to work harder, to reach then quickly pass limits that seemed so daunting in the beginning? What else has kept me going, day by day, week by week, and challenges me in a way that no other physical activity has done? Not to mention the mental and emotional obstacles that stretch and strengthen my mind and heart while I'm out on the road. Running is such a personal thing and can mean something so different from one runner to the next. For me it has become a way to lose weight (15 pounds since Jan. 4th!), a more and more enjoyable activity when I do it right, and a reason to push myself towards goals on foot and in life.

So, I guess I can thank Angie for the suggestion. She's my inspiration and fellow partner of perspiration (for reals.. you should see us. . . actually, no, you shouldn't). Maybe some day I'll work up to a full 26.2 miles of craziness. But for now, I'll take half the crazy. If only I could pay half the money. I'll keep on hoping... and hopefully keep on running.


Sorry, Billy.

Karma Must'a Forgot About Me

What is luck, anyway? Does it really exist? What about good fortune, karma, or destiny? Luck by any other name would smell as sweet. . . Ok, I'm not going to get all Shakespeare on you. I'm just posing these philosophicals because I can't think of a better intro to this post. That reminds me of a movie quote, "What's with you today?" "What's with today, today?"

But I digress.

I've never really been a believer in the attitude of, "Well, if it was meant to be" dot, dot, dot. I remember discussing this with The Becca years ago and agreeing that it is a cop-out attitude that takes away our responsibility. You are in charge of your life, not Mr. Fate or Señora Suerte (translation: Mrs. Luck -- I also wonder why she's Spanish). No offense to any of you who believe in such crazy antics. I guess I opt to create my own destiny, if you must call it that. However, I do concede to the notion that sometimes crazy coincidences occur that can either be positive or negative depending on the person, place, situation, etc. So what am I babbling about? Well I'll tell you.

Not long ago, Kyle and I bought a few items at the grocery store. As we walked up to the self check-out station and started scanning our schtuff, I noticed a $20 bill eyeing me from the cash return slot. What did I do? (This would be a great "Choose your own adventure!" blog but you have to stick with the "I'll just tell you what I did, 'aight?") I immediately took the $20 and handed it to a store employee explaining it was left by the previous customer. I didn't really give it a second thought. We finished our purchase and were out the door only moments later.

Later that night, we were given free tickets to a Jazz game. We had fun, they won by three in OT (luckily... I mean, wait - never mind) and we were in the process of leaving the Energy Solutions Arena when I realized I left my jacket on my seat. I retrieved my jacket but realized my phone fell out of my pocket in the process (in the midst of a herd of exiting fans). We immediately checked Lost & Found, called my phone about a zillion times in case someone heard it. . . but nada. The phone was stolen - in two measly minutes.

The fact that my phone was stolen irked me quite a bit (and I don't really get irked too easily). The cold truth is some people care less about doing the morally right thing and more about personal gains. Sad, but true. The irony to me is the amount it cost for me to buy a new sim card for a previously used phone provided by Kyle's bro was, yep, you guess it - $20 (give or take a few but come on, go with me on the poetic injustice here). Remember the $20 I returned from the grocery store? Was it fate . . or luck? Should I have taken the $20 since it's not really the store's money but some forgetful customer? They were probably long gone anyway. . . right?

I don't tell this story to pat myself on the back while griping about my loss of faith in the goodness of humanity. I guess I tell it because I think Karma owes me one. I try to be a good person, be honest, smile at strangers, and, you know.. vote. Can't I catch a little break? But then again, if I wonder why people do bad things, why do I do good? To feel good? Isn't that a personal gain? The funny thing is, as I grumbled about the punk who stole my phone and all the reasons why and how I thought most people were over being petty thieves, I wondered what I would have done if the $20 presented itself AFTER the cell phone heist. Would I have been annoyed and angry at the world and decided it was a measly $20 that no one was going to miss and, hey, I deserve it, don't I? . . .

. . .

No. I know myself. I would have done the same thing I did before. Not because I'm a saint but because it's not mine to take. One could call it luck, or fate, or good fortune giving me a chance to break a little even. But I wouldn't because I can always choose the good. I'd rather have that than the $20.

And it wouldn't hurt to have my cell phone back, too. (I miss you, little guy)