I'm pretty sure that a meth head didn't set out to become a meth head. I mean, who really wants to resemble more of a zombie than a human with that pallid complexion, sunken cheeks, hideous sores, and missing teeth.
The same way I'm pretty sure that the first time a gambling addict sat down at the craps table, they didn't plan on heading to a loan shark for money and then having Two-Ton Tommy and Vinnie the Bone Cruncher standing over him when he couldn't repay the loan plus the vig.
Now, I cannot comment conclusively on this because I've never been a meth head or a gambling addict. I just know that I like my face healthy-looking and my teeth in my head and if I saw some extremely ripped men holding baseball bats looking for me, I'd…well…I don't know. Cry, probably.
I do know that the first day I decided to take my dog running, I didn't think I'd one day end up running a marathon.
That being said, I know how you can cross the line from fun to addict, from sane to clinically insane (And yes, I will admit to running being an addiction for me. I absolutely love it. I love getting lost in the miles with only my thoughts and no pressing responsibilities. To save on the cheese, I'm going to stop right there. Want to hear me wax poetic on my love/addiction of running, then message me and you'll get all the cheese you can eat).
Now, before you start shaking a finger at me and saying well, people who love running, they can run a marathon. While that statement is absolutely one hundred percent correct, I'll respond by saying that I hated running. In fact, despite running with my dog, one year ago, I topped out at about 4.5 miles.
In fact, if you would have traveled back in time and told my mom that one of her children would go on to run half-marathons and marathons, I would have been her absolutely last pick. My sister ran cross country and danced in middle school and high school. My brother played soccer. They both ran long distances. I did gymnastics. Everything I did was anaerobic.
Don't' believe me? Let me put it this way: Young Erin didn't do long distances. Young Erin cringed when she had to run a mile in gym class. Young Erin would've probably bitched slapped Present-Day Erin as she crossed the finish line at the marathon. Not that Young Erin has a problem with being healthy. Mainly because Young Erin had very clear-cut opinions on running. Those opinions were that you just didn't do it. Period.
Hell, even Running Erin didn't want a piece of that kind of craziness that went with 26.2 miles. With the lofty goal of a half-marathon in mind, Running Erin even thought it was full-on insanity to double that number and run a marathon.
So what caused this transformation? And more importantly, what the hell do you think of for five or so hours while you're running TWENTY-SIX POINT TWO MILES.
All right, let's start with my transformation. I run because of my dog. Being an active person and one who desires to be a size two, I would spend 45 minutes to an hour on an elliptical trainer. The elliptical never went under 10 mph. I thought I was the epitome of health and wellness.
Thinking I was this inspirational beacon of cardiovascularness, I decided I would take the dog for a run. He's my baby. He eats organic dog food, and if you feed him a table scrap - even if it is a high-quality piece of steak - I will freak out. My baby doesn't eat unhealthy food. My baby will not become fat. My baby will live forever. I'm not joking there. He. Will. Live. Forever.
Anyway, back to running - I hooked his leash onto his collar and bounded outside ready to conquer the pavement. Too bad the pavement conquered me. Three blocks. That was all it took. Three blocks and I was winded like an asthmatic on a soccer field. My baby, Mac, however, was all too happy to be outside, running, distributing his scent onto mailboxes, and wasn't ready to go home. I toughed it out. For maybe a half mile. That first year was tough for someone who always said she wasn't running unless a zombie or a knife-wielding maniac was after her.
But since then, I've managed to work myself up to respectable distances. We'd start springs off running around 1.5 miles. I'd run a couple of blocks and then walk. Then I'd run four blocks and walk one. I just kept building. It also helped that Mac was a complete lunatic when he was walking. He'd pull on the leash and choke himself, he'd piss even more….the run was a distraction. And by the end of the first summer, I was running everything except the hills in my neighborhood.
Mac and I continued in this fashion. At some point, the delusional idea popped into my head to run a half-marathon (Check. Did that in April. And then overseas in August). However, since my only running buddy was my dog and I didn't have any running friends to help me get there, my attempts were often well-meaning but unattainable goals.
Until Mac got older. For the record, he just turned thirteen making him like…91 in dog years. A year and a half ago though, at eleven, I ran with him in late April. The poor thing was completely miserably afterwards. He couldn't cool down. I wasn't going to abuse him like that. I entered my first 5k that summer and met runners. I found out about a half marathon in April 2011 here at home and that a training accompanied it. I signed up the training. For the hell of it, I took Mac running in the winter in between my long runs. The now 12-year-old puppy was able to 4 miles a couple of times a week with me, even running 5-6 miles with some.
I got in trouble with the vet. I was told my baby who will live forever is old and that he shouldn't go over two miles. I bet the vet couldn't run 5-6 miles and he's like half Mac's age. But, I listened to him. If I caused my dog to have a heart attack I couldn't live with myself.
Anyway, I did my first half in April. I trained all of January, February, and March for it. Pretty much every Saturday I was running more miles than I ever had in my life. Call my crazy, but I felt an odd sense of accomplishment about all that I was achieving.
The morning of the race, my sister who now lives in Denmark called me to make sure I was awake. My mom called me to wish me good luck and tell me she'd be at the finish line. And then my dad took me to the race.
The last two miles were horrible. We were running into the wind, but the thought of the beer garden kept me going. And I even managed something of a sprint the last quarter of a mile. In bit of a daze and breathing heavy, I found my dad and his lady, my mom and Charlie, my aunt, Kevin and his fiancee (now wife) Andrea (We will call her Tres since my step-sister is an Andrea), all waiting for me and yelling my name.
And then a phone was flung into my face. No clue what was going on, in need of water and with a photographer trying to get a picture of me for my post-race photo, my head was swimming. But when I put the phone to my ear and heard my biggest fan on the phone, 4,000 miles away, I was pretty excited. Yes, my sister had called my brother on Skype and listened for my name to be called. And then Kevin ran my down trying to get the phone to me so I'd know that my entire family was there to see me finish my first half-marathon.
Yes, I know. It's cheesy as fuck.
Shut up.
My family is awesome.
And we roll that way all the time.
Don't be jealous.
After chugging a water and a Powerade, my aunt Melody bought beer tickets for the beer garden and I made my way over (Yeah, you just got even more jealous of my family, didn't you!). Everyone sat down with me and listened to me talk about the race. Kevin and Tres had some beer with me. I had six beer. Yeah, that's how I roll. I'm a damn trooper - don't forget it!
During all of that drinking, I found an old acquaintance named Jenny. Jenny and I were in journalism classes together and were Facebook friends. I didn't realize it, but meeting Jenny would lead me to do something that even training for my half-marathon I had thought was crazy. That's right, Jenny had the bright idea to run the marathon. And I crazily enough followed her into the insanity without a second look back (until the day of the race that is).
But I think I'll let the insanity end there. We're not quite certifiable yet, but the tale is definitely getting there!
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