"Age ain't nothing but a number"

Thank you, R. Kelly and Aaliyah for bringing this saying to the mainstream.  Once again, I am using pop music to describe my running tales.  This will be a recurrent theme, I am sure, as I LOVE music (the cheesier the better).  You have been warned!

A couple of years ago, as I was miserably struggling through a double digit training run at a 14 minute per mile pace, I asked my coach how long it would take until the running got easier.  His response?  At least two years, consistently.  WHAT????  Did he just say TWO WHOLE YEARS?  No way will I still be running in two years, thought my 28 year old self.  No more marathons.  This is it.  I am done.

If you know me, you know that I say those words often, and when you hear them, you chuckle.  If you don't know me, never believe me when I utter the words "I am never doing this again."  My monogram should be "this seemed like a good idea six months ago (TSLIAGISMA)."  That may be kind of hard to fit on a hand towel though.

Anyway.  After that horrid marathon season, I signed up for 2 halves and another full.  I figured that since I was already sort of in shape, I might as well keep going.  I followed my training scheduled (mostly), convinced some friends to run with me, and even found myself enjoying the runs.

When the time came to run the Anchorage marathon in June of 2011, I was clocking 11 minute miles.  As I stood at the water stop with my fellow Team In Training TEAMmates from all over the country, it dawned on me.  Coach was right.  I had been running consistently for two years, and it had gotten easier.  I ran my PR in Anchorage - 5:09:47.  I felt fantastic, and probably could've finished faster, but we stopped to take pictures of the awesomeness that is Alaska.

I have never actually felt my age.  Even after playing basketball in some capacity for 20+ years, running 4 marathons and all of the other athletic undertakings I have done, I have never felt like I had been hit by a truck.  At least not during a training run.  I have also never had the opportunity to be demobilized by an "injury" for more than a good night's sleep.

Until this week.

Monday night I went for a run on one of my favorite routes - downtown Clearwater to Sand Key.  From the beginning, my legs felt like cinder blocks, but I am used to that from triathlon training.  It usually works itself out around mile 3.  Not this time.  It took extreme effort to take every step of the 6.4 miles.  I was frustrated a bit, because just 3 days prior I had run the same exact route, plus an additional mile, at a 9:46 pace, but I kept going and finished the run.  As soon as I reached my car, I began stretching.  I could tell I was going to be sore from pushing, but it is a familiar feeling that comes with the territory of endurance sports.  The trick is having a mind strong enough to quiet the pain electrodes in the brain.  Or an enormous amount of stupidity.  I'll go with the former, because it makes me appear fierce.

The following morning, I heard my alarm sound.  My brain told me to roll over to shut it off, but my body was not cooperating.  I couldn't move.  My entire upper back was stiff as a board.  Awesome.  Being as my boss is in town, there was no way to be a crybaby and wallow in self misery at home (even if I do have plenty of sick days available).  I managed to get dressed, make coffee and get to work 20 minutes early.  I walked around like an un-oiled tin man all day long.  When did I get so old, I thought?  What is happening to me?  Advil used to fix this.

As I was slowly making my way to the cafe for a cup of green tea, a co-worker stopped me to tell me that she would be leaving the company at the end of September and is moving to Miami.  We got to talking, and somehow my age came up.  She asked how old I was, and when I replied "33.  No, wait - 32.  I'm 32 (stupid USAT)," her mouth dropped.  She said "I swear you were only 23 or 24.  There's no way you are 32."  Um, yes.  I am, in fact, 32.

I have my mom's grandmother to thank for my youthful genes.  My gram turned 83 today - Happy Birthday, Gram! - and you would think she was at least 10 years younger.  I like to think that my sunny disposition also contributes to my youthfulness.  I like to try new things, I am excited to see my friends, families and strangers experience goodness, and I am grateful for every day that I wake up.

But yesterday, oh, yesterday.  I felt like I was 74.  My back hurt so badly that it was making me exhausted.  The soreness had wound its way into every fiber of my body with no signs of vacating.  It made me wonder just how long I have until something gave out, how far I can push without my body shutting down.  I don't know the answer to that, but it's not going to stop me.  I am, after all, only 32.  I see age groupers 5 tiers above mine making their way to the finish lines of every event I do.  I want to be that person.  I want to be 80 and still running.  I am a glutton for punishment, and I know that I will continue to push, because stopping is not an option.

And so I run.