The Race Is Over

The Race Is Over

Figure 1. Norman Reedus rocking the tie & v-neck sweater. This has nothing to do with running.

Figure 1. Norman Reedus rocking the tie & v-neck sweater.  I mean, is the man cute enough in all ways? This has nothing to do with running.

I did my half-marathon in Tacoma.

It was hard. It was okay. Parts of it were good. My body is hurting. My feet are covered in blisters. I hope to get a nice pedicure soon to massage out all the soreness. Now I’m at graduate school and I am hobbling around up the stairs and stuff, but am guessing that shit’ll go away soon.

In terms of execution and anticipation, doing this 13.1 mile race was probably the hardest thing I’ve done all year. Harder than writing my graduate school thesis or critical paper. Harder than any of the fiction stuff I did, either.

I am such a goddamn pussy, you guys.

You cannot know how glad I am to be done with this event. Now I can just run as a civilian and not be beholden to some notion of training.

I’m not a fast runner. I’m not an elegant runner. I didn’t start running until I was 36 years old. I don’t give one shit about my times. I’m not competitive by nature and I’m not that interested in my own physical fitness because I continually eat shitty foods and am not the type of lady to go around in spandex and a sports bra so I’m sort of weird to be doing all this, I suppose. But really, I just go running because I’m out of ideas with my writing. I need to just mull over my thoughts and not be distracted. One of the best things about going running is that I get to be alone. This is why I don’t like races; you have to be next to all these bodies and all these people doing all their weird pre-race rituals and stretching and wearing their strange garments and appliances and devices and Jesus Fucking Christ, I just don’t want to take in any more data, get the hell away from me.

(Also, Male Runners? Do you really have to stretch like that while wearing those tights/short shorts? I can’t help but think you’re being somewhat hostile and aggressive in the way you pump up your nuts in everyone’s face like that. Gaaaaahhhhhhhd.)

There was a lady that I ran with for several miles. She’d run for 30 seconds, then walk. I’d pass her while she walked, then she’d pass me running. This went on FOREVER. I kind of wanted to kill her, to be honest. I wanted her to get the fuck out of my personal bubble and stay in her own lane. I don’t get people who do the walk-run thing in races. I only do that when things are going shitty; it’s not a strategy. Myself, I find it harder to get back into running when I stop to walk all the time. Just face facts; it’s kind of sucky and it’s not gonna get less sucky if you keep quitting and slowing down.

Plus, walking is walking.

Anyway, there’s no moral to this story. Just that the discussion of running will probably cease for a bit. As well as the complaining about it on Twitter.

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