I watched a cell phone video of my Spokane half marathon finish last October, and I was stunned. I looked like I was barely moving. This was remarkable because the average runner, including me, tries to sprint at the end of a race to shave off a few seconds from a mediocre finish time. Well, that and the fact that there are people watching you, and the announcer is calling out your name. That means that dozens of folks are milling around, smiling kindly and murmuring, “well, bless her heart” as they watch me finish.
The fact that I won my gender and age division does not mollify me because my pace was abysmal. However, runners are remarkably adroit at rationalizing their finish time. “It was a hilly course,” “I was running into a headwind much of the way,” and “I had food poisoning two nights ago” were sentiments that I quickly conjured up to soften my disappointment.
Runners can be a competitive lot, regardless of their age and ability. I am sure that is true of bicyclists, tennis players, weightlifters, swimmers, and ballroom dancers. We compare ourselves to everyone - other than couch potatoes. Measuring ourselves against people who do not work out is fundamentally flawed: by doing so, we might actually feel good about ourselves, thus defeating the purpose of comparison. We motivate ourselves by feeling bad about our outcomes and believing that anyone could have performed better.
But setting aside self-debasement, I have learned many life lessons from rigorous exercise. First, exertion is not enjoyable – at least at the start. Other than smelling fresh air, nothing feels particularly cheery when I start a run. My muscles are a little tight, and I obsess about any tweaks or creaks from any body part below the waist. My breathing is a bit irregular and slightly shallow. A part of my brain thinks about how wonderful walking would feel. But that all changes as the minutes pass, and before long, there is a magical and mysterious energy that overtakes me.
I learned another exercise lesson from my mother. She used to tell me, when she scooted me outdoors as a child to play in the rain (as long as there was no lightening), “body protein is not water soluble.” She meant that getting a little wet was not going to hurt me nor make me sick. I have confirmed that truism thousands of times because I live in the Seattle area. I can also vouch that running in the dark, cold, and wind will not kill you, either. Although, to be fair, it is helpful to wear a reflective windbreaker, a headlamp, and warm gloves.
Third, get a workout in before you do anything remotely pleasant. I know that working out is a nice mid-day break, but I do not understand how it is sustainable. Given the choice between spending the noon hour eating a toasted cheese sandwich and researching my next vacation - or - grunting through a run on a busy side street near my office, is a no-brainer. I head outdoors in the wee hours of the morning because I know that I can succumb to sloth-ism the rest of the day. And delayed gratification, in the form of coffee and a hot shower, always inspires me.
I have also learned that consistency is next to godliness when it comes to your health. Eating a salad once in a while and occasionally giving up the French fries that are served with your hamburger is no substitute for regularly eating a healthy diet. The same is true of exercise. You may or may not see a difference in your physique after exercising for two month, and laser fat removal commercials suddenly become beguiling. But that’s like opting for fancy new kitchen cabinets when your home needs a new furnace and an electrical upgrade. Create the steady and unglamorous routine of regular exertion, and your internal body systems will thank you.
Finally, don’t let perfect be the enemy of good. I am quick to discredit myself for not lifting weights at least two times a week even though I am unfailingly persistent at aerobic workouts. I try to be compassionate about my shortcomings because I understand that falling short of our self-set goals is part of the human condition. I strive to be as kind to myself as I would be to anyone else.
So, what is the lesson to learn from a dispiriting half marathon time? It could be that I am getting older and slower and that I will never outrun Father Time. Or it might be that it is a privilege to still move through the world in a way that makes me feel grateful, joyful, and blessed.
I think I will go with the latter.