i swear it isn't slo-mo

here are stinky and i. having just completed the cushion peak adventure race last spring, we probably had thoughts of sicilian pizzas and banana cupckaes running through our heads. we finished in first place in the co/ed division, but the overall title eluded us once more. i don't remember for sure but we'd probably been going full-bore for about three hours through some mist, rain, mud, and muck. there's one hill in particular that is a doosey. thanks, stinky, for pushing my bike up it. i couldn't breathe. do you remember? i couldn't breathe. as early as april of last year. i'd get better, it isn't anything, just allergies, my last cold of the season hanging on, the humidity. a reason for everything. but we'd won, once again. sweet victory along side those glorious endorphins. my favorite feeling bad but feeling more good than bad moments are at the close of races like this one. my favorite feeling. success, sweet, satisfying, success. and another reason to demolish nearly an entire pizza all by my lonesome. i never, ever hid the fact that half of why i did so much to keep in shape was to allow myself some extra on the food-indulgence side. a delicious beer and burger? why, yes, of course i will. cheese? throw it on. if you saw what i ate following some of my races through the years you'd probably expect me to fall prey to heart disease rather than lung cancer.

sometimes i enjoyed training more than the races themselves. as much as i enjoy competition, i am enamored, completely in love with, running through the countryside and clearing the cobwebs from my head and my legs. i love seeing the seasons change on a day-to-day basis. i love smelling the sweet summer early mornings as i run past horses grazing in the still-dewy fields. i love the sound of snow crunching underfoot as my breath escapes in white clouds around me. i like my runs with friends, hearing their footsteps around mine, don't get me wrong. but i have, for the past five years especially, found my peace in my solo runs, no matter the length or time of day. i can let my mind run and talk myself into and out of nearly anything that might be rattling around inside my head. my saturday or sunday morning runs are my favorites. a little bowl of cereal and some water beforehand, a bottle of water for the road if it is summertime, and then when i get home, stretching on the porch with a bottle of diluted gatorade, followed by cooking breakfast, making some coffee or tea, and then the new york times for as long as i want, or as long as i can stand the way i smell. it is my favorite routine. it is the closest i can get to being on vacation without going anywhere at all.

and these days, i miss it with all my heart.

today i decided it was time to try it out again, this running thing, to see whether we are made for each other, for the long haul. i have been feeling really good and while i've been taking some epic-length afternoon naps, i have had more energy than i have had since march and with this in mind i decided this morning was just right for a little jog around the neighborhood. it stormed here last night, and the air was clearer than it has been in recent memory. the storm ushered in cooler temps and a wind out of the northwest, strong enough to slow me down even when i was at my strongest. i knew it was going to be slow, and i knew it wasn't going to be pretty. but i have to start somewhere. i cannot rush into my old routine, as much as it fit me like a well-worn pair of sweatpants. i set out at a pace i considered slow, and within 100 yards i was struggling for air. don't discount the fact you have less lung right now, liz. don't forget what you felt like just one week ago. i stopped, which i never, ever, ever do. i put my hands behind my head, bending my elbows and taking deep breaths. open that chest up and get some air in there. i wanted to cry. i knew that wouldn't solve anything. i wanted to resign myself to sucking, head home, take a shower, and cry. cry for what's gone and not coming back. well, shit, it isn't going to come back if you quit and cry, you skinny little twirp. lots of people run and walk. lots. you're not used to it. slow down a little. figure this out. every time you do it, it will get better. it has to. so, i continued, shuffling my feet to slow me down, walking at the onset of the small hills, and slowly but surely it got a little better. i ran the last .75 of a mile without a walking break. i have never been so happy to see my mailbox come into view, and i was happy to stop. nothing really hurt me, but it took a little longer than usual to catch my breath. i still wanted to cry, but now it was more out of acceptance, out of seeing myself learn an important lesson, another one. this is going to be harder than i thought, this coming back and getting back into shape. i might not ever get to where i was before. but i have to try to get there. and i cannot give up. no way.

because, when it comes down to it, admitting to walking during my run, running slower than a granny with a walker, just getting out there and doing it at all, it is nothing compared to what i have subjected myself and my precious body to over the course of my treatments and surgeries. and when it comes down to it, i have learned how to suffer on a whole new level.

so i have to get stronger, get better. because the races are suffer-fests. and now i think i have what it takes to win outright.