Once a runner
Before I started running, I was a scuba diver. I had gotten certified in Ann Arbor and dove in quarries and the great lakes. I dove in Florida and in New York. I dove in muddy water and clear water. Warm and cold. I bought a drysuit and high pressure tanks. I was a diver. Thinking about it, I became a diver the moment I was certified. People would ask me if I was a diver and I could say yes.
Then I stopped diving. It takes alot of time to dive and practice on a regular basis. I couldn’t dive occasionally and still be safe. After the last dive, I felt I could still call myself a diver for a little while, because after all, I could put on the drysuit at any time and go diving. Then I sold the drysuit. And the tanks. And the regulators. A few weeks ago I sold the drysuit undergarments. I can say I am certified to dive, but I can’t say I’m a diver.
When I first started running, I could only run for 5 minutes. And it hurt. Alot! I had no aerobic capacity even though I worked out for 2 hours a day on weights and had already dropped about 50 pounds in weight (down below my “ideal” weight). If people asked me if I was a runner (seeing me trying to run on the dreadmill) my reply was always “I’m trying to do some running but I’m not really a runner.”
Then I ran more. I ran in a race. I ran a 5K, a 10K, a half marathon, a full marathon (ok, there was walking in there), and another marathon (more walking). I ran with other people sometimes. I had running friends. I was part of an online running community (even stranger than an online dive community). I drove a long way just to run in a race. The drawer of my dresser was busting with T-shirts from races. When someone asked me if I was a runner, I would say yes.
At some point between those first few steps and the last marathon I ran, I became a runner. I have to say that going running once, did not make me a runner. I think the title comes from time and dedication and a desire to run and improve my running. It came from long hours of training. It came from developing a habit of behavior. Running for the sake of running made me a runner.
I don’t know where along the timeline it happened, but I do know that there must be a point because I wasn’t a runner when I started, and I was a runner at the end, so someone along the way, the transition must have occurred. Thus, it stands to reason that when one stops running, there comes a point where one is no longer a runner. Just like the diving. If I stop running for the rest of my life, I think I could safely say I was no longer a runner.
So I look where I am now. 20 pounds up from where I was 2 years ago. Haven’t run a mile in months. I have no aerobic capacity. My cholesterol is crap again. Resting HR near 80. BP 120’s over 80’s. The fat pants are tight. When I look at this now, I see me nearly exactly where I was April 1, 2001, the day I decided to get in shape after seeing my father with his first stroke, 4 years before the second one made him dependent forever on the rest of our family.
I came so far with it all, and fell right back down that slope. All I have to show for it is a pile of old running shoes, medals and bibs, and a blog full of stories written by someone I hardly recognize any more. I can’t believe I ran a marathon last fall. It hardly seems real. I feel like the one-hit wonders that decide to train for a marathon (having never run before), run it, and then fall back down on the sofa feeling like that will carry them for the rest of their lives.
This is becoming a bit of a downer post.
I have past the point where I can still say I’m a runner. I was a runner. When you get to that point, its so hard to start again. To take up running again. I remember all the pain. I remember how hard it was to get my speed up. To actually finish ahead of the majority of the pack. Now I would have to start all over again, except for the readily available running shoes and gadgets.
I feel so old. I feel so heavy. I feel so stupid trying to lose the extra pounds by cutting the calories to just about nothing, all because I can’t find the time to exercise. The crazy thing is that I used to feel really hungry when I cut back the calories, and now I don’t. I’m not hungry when I come home at the end of the day. I think my metabolism has slowed to a snail’s pace. I’m pretty certain 1500 calories is all I need. How much energy do you need to walk from your desk to the car?
Crazy stuff.
Its late. Time for bed. Tomorrow is another early day and whining about it won’t make it any better.
March 24th, 2008 23:31
I can’t speak to that metabolism stuff at the end, Jon, but there if there is one thing I have learned about runners, it is this: They start over and over and over and over.
There’s more to this comment, but it got kind of long, and then it became all about me,so I started it over on my blog.
March 24th, 2008 23:44
That’s a very sad post. Very insightful and logical, but written with a negative perspective.
I slowed down over the winter, but I refuse to let myself “not be a runner” anymore. I think you can get back into it faster than you think. Just go out and run tomorrow. 1 mile. Walk if you have to. You’ll be back before you know it.
One more suggestion: set yourself another goal. Maybe a race in May. Or in June - for Father’s Day.
(Buck up, Jon! You’ve got to get back into 20K shape by Labor Day!)
March 25th, 2008 02:37
I agree with Danny, very insightful and logical but quite negative. I don’t believe you are quite as bad off as you think, once you start training regularily I think you will return to a better level of fitness much quicker than “in the beginning”. Find a goal and pursue it, even if it’s just being able to RUN from your desk to the car…
March 25th, 2008 07:44
This reminds me of what my dad told me once when I told him that I didn’t want to be Catholic anymore… “You’ll ALWAYS be a Catholic, you can’t get away from it.” :) In some ways he’s right, in a lot of ways he’s wrong. It does seem to be true that when something has been such an engrained part of your life, there are some things that will stick with you.
Well, whereever your running stands, you certainly are a writer. This was really engagingly written.
March 25th, 2008 10:42
hey Jon. snap out of it buddy.
March 25th, 2008 12:25
Dear Jon,
You *are* still a runner (as much as I am still a runner). As Deene says above, “snap out of it.” I’ll agree, it isn’t easy to get back. It may be harder because you now know what it feels like to have been in better shape. You also know how good it feels to be on the other side of trying. Go for it. I am. We’ll do it together (via our virtual connection).
With best regards,
Juls
March 25th, 2008 18:03
Jon, the runner is still in there, just resting for now.
Who says you have to run races or marathons to be a runner? I think the most important part of the whole post was in the sixth paragraph, about the date April 1, 2001, when your father had a stroke.
How about just putting up some post-it notes on your bathroom mirror, car rearview mirror or dashboard, and on your office monitor with just that date? Or a photo of your father. If you keep seeing it, one day the runner will wake up again, put on some shoes, and take a jog around the block. And so it begins.
March 25th, 2008 21:56
The once and future king of the chocolate eating runners.
March 26th, 2008 01:17
The nice thing about running is that it’s always there for you to come back to. It won’t care where you’ve been, or make any snide remarks, or ask what took you so long. Just know that it’s always there.
March 26th, 2008 01:18
The nice thing about running is that it’s always there to come back to. It won’t care how long you’ve been away, or ask what you’ve been doing, or make snide remarks. Just know that it’s always there for you.
March 27th, 2008 04:25
This is quite a post, true that it is a bit of a downer. But you just have to look back and see how you transitioned from a diver to a runner. If you were able to do it before, you will be able to do it again (assuming you still want to be a runner). Keep your head up and everything will be ok.
March 28th, 2008 20:24
Karen’s post sent me wandering over. It seems to me that the very fact that you’re blogging about this means you’re thinking about it. The fact that you left the comment function enabled means you’re open to feedback, possibly even receptive to encouragement.
The topic you address here is complex. Identity and how we perceive ourselves is a deep, muddy area of study that I profess to know very little about.
I do know that sometimes it is better to think less and do more. (This is coming from a budding academic here!) So… go get your runners. Put them on. Go out the door. Stay out for at least 20 minutes. Walk. Run. Whatever. Just get out there. Then do it again in a day or two. You’ll feel like a runner again soon.
March 30th, 2008 08:54
Hey, we all go through funks. I just got out of one myself. Funks are always hard to go through. You get stuck with tunnel vision thinking that you’ll never run again. It’s almost like the depression side of manic-depressive disorder. You’ll get your manic swing soon enough.
March 30th, 2008 15:44
I echo everyone’s sentiments here. Even though you are currently not running DOES NOT mean you are not a runner. I know it’s hard to get started again especially when you know where you used to be but look at this as challenge & learn from what you did in the past to make you a better runner in the long run.
April 1st, 2008 22:47
what they all said.
the question is, deep down, do you want to RUN again (cuz, sorry, you’re still a runner. you’re just in your extended off-season).
If so, you know how to do it. It isn’t easy, it isn’t fun, but it CAN be done. There’s only one way to do it and that’s one foot in front of the other. You have to stop measuring yourself against last fall, or last week or whenever.
I know it’s so easy to spout this stuff. but it’s really true. There’s no magic to running. You just have to pick a goal, pick a plan and do it.
If you’re ready.
I DO feel your pain. Seriously. I do.