Running up the hill

I am running the Rogue River Trail in 7 weeks.

SEVEN.  yikes.

I took a 5-day break from running this week due to some hip problems.  I stretched, I iced, I went to my crazy chiropractor, but nothing really helped.  In fact, for the first three days my hip got worse even though I was just sitting there.  Very annoying.  Finally, it started to feel better and I capitulated and bought new shoes so I could go running under optimal circumstances for having happy legs.  I have been putting off the new shoe thing for a long time because they are so expensive, but I solemnly swear I will not delay getting new shoes again, because it was worth every penny.

I ran 6 miles on flat paved trails yesterday to test out my hip, and after that went great, I busted out my new trail shoes and ran 10 miles on muddy steep horse trails in Tryon Creek Park this morning. That run was ... hard.  It was very hard.  My hip felt fine, but I'm undertrained for hills and switchbacks, and I could feel my big muscles, the quads and glutes especially, going achy and hypoxic after only a mile.  After two miles, I was huffing and puffing expremely inelegantly and seriously doubting whether I could finish my ten.  And, consequently, seriously doubting whether my Rogue River run is even possible.  I was struggling and couldn't find my stride, flailing madly down hills and trudging awkwardly up them, when a tall, thin blonde in just a sports bra and booty shorts, her navel ring glistening in the sunshine and her ponytail bobbing jauntily, came flashing past me.  She blasted by as a blurry vision of tanned abs and pink sneakers, leaving me in the dust.

In that moment, I had a massive attack of the Itty-Bitty-Shitty-Me's.  I felt sooooo lame.  And I felt ashamed for feeling lame, because blah blah feminism, I don't need to compare myself to Jogger Barbie, I am strong and I'm running for me, and not so I can conform to some external body model or whatever.  Yes.  That is true.  And I run for the feeling of power and independence, the complete trust in my own strength and autonomy that it gives me.  But right then I just felt sweaty and muddy and tired and miserable in my dorky running outfit, gasping for breath, and ready to give up.

But I didn't.  And that is the secret.  Sometimes the reward is in persevering when it seems like there is no reward.  I persevered.  I walked up the hills when I couldn't run up them, but I didn't stop, and I didn't let myself believe the lies I was telling myself about weakness.  And then, almost magically, my GPS said I had run seven miles.  Every mile had felt impossible until I knew there were only three left, and then everything was easy.  Of course I could do three more miles.  What's three miles?  And I pulled my head up and looked around at the beautiful forest, noticing it as though for the first time.  Ahhhhh.  I ran my last three miles feeling like I could do anything, anything in the world.  Just try to stop me.  I dare you.