My Year of YES! Part One or How I Got Into Running and Decided to Run a Marathon

This year, I turned thirty.  That birthday seems to be a particularly hard one for people.  As someone at my office said, "Twenty-nine seems a lot younger than thirty."  Now, I wouldn't say it was a hard birthday; all in all, it seemed fairly straight-forward.  I didn't feel any different, I didn't look any different.  I certainly don't want to go back to being twenty.  No matter what I say or feel, though, about turning thirty, that birthday is a milestone.

Last fall, I started to feel the impending milestone.  I had wanted to run my first marathon last year but was prevented by a foot injury.  So, there went my plan of running a marathon before I was thirty.  "Then," thought I, "I'll just run a marathon the year I turn thirty." Those who know me best were skeptical.

You see, when I was growing up, I was no athlete.  I liked to dance but I hated running (really, I hated all sports).  To paraphrase Snoopy, I was a running hater, a running loather, and a running despiser.  I was also scared to death of running.  I was terrible at it, I was slow, it made my chest hurt, my mouth dry, I tired easily.  I avoided almost all sports assiduously.  Then, I went to college and accidentally signed up for the novice rowing team.

At the activities fair, just between new student orientation and the start of classes, I wandered the tables, looking at clubs and organizations.  I met the people at the InterVarsity table and Campus Crusade; I couldn't decide which group to join so I made myself go to both, in an effort to make friends.  Then, I saw the "Rowing" table.  Memories of rowing out into the middle of Lake Yamanaka, at the foot of Mt. Fuji danced through my head.  Rowing was calm, rowing was peaceful, it gave you a chance to enjoy the view.  I wrote my name down on their list.

That's me in the front.  You can just see the
tops of my lucky socks, I knit them myself.

A week later, I received an email stating practices would start that week in the afternoons.  I couldn't make the first practices as they met during one of my classes but, from the tone of the email, I quickly realized that I had not joined a club that would leisurely row on the Willamette, I'd joined the novice rowing team, which would be practicing, hard.  The only scenery viewing would be between rowing pieces, collapsed over the oar shaft, trying desperately to get my heart back into my chest.  The stubborn part of me refused to let me quit without even trying; this could be my chance, my defining moment, my crucible.  After all, isn't college supposed to be a place where you can re-invent yourself, be someone new.  I was determined to change something, or to at least make a decent effort.

My first experience with rowing actually ended up being on an ergometer.  Everyone around me hated it, I loved it.  I got bit by the rowing bug and I didn't want to stop.  Sure, it was hard but there was still a sense of calmness in the rhythm of rowing.  You have to be calm to row and while power might get you there, technique will get you there, probably faster and with a more efficient use of energy.  I still couldn't make a lot of the practices but I finally got put in a boat.  I knew nothing and, since the novice coach had already taught everyone else the basics, she didn't bother to teach me anything.  I still loved it.  I was terrible at it, I was slow, it made my chest hurt, my mouth dry and I tired easily but I still loved it. 

What I didn't love was the coach and when the semester was over, I chose to quit.  My chem lab partner happened to be the women's varsity captain and she encouraged me to come back in the fall.  I promised her I would and I did.  I couldn't keep away from rowing and, at the end of my sophomore year, I received the "Most Improved Rower" award (not that big of an achievement as I was the worst rower at the beginning of the year).  I continued with rowing all through college.  I would have continued after college if I could have afforded to join a club in town.  I didn't have the money but I had gotten hooked on being in good shape, on being healthy.  Somewhere along the line, I had become an athlete.



Hood to Coast 2010  - my first of three legs.
Recognize the orange visor?



Well, what is an athlete supposed to do when they have no money to spend on gyms or rowing clubs?  I started running.  Not always consistently and I still don't always find running fun, but it's worth the feeling I get after I run.  I'm a total believer in the runner's high because I get it all the time.  I didn't start getting serious about running, though, until I started my not-so-new-anymore job in downtown Portland.  Suddenly, I could afford a gym membership, I had a great place to run along the Waterfront and, my office had a Hood to Coast team.  What better way to give me something to train for?  I started running more consistently and a little bit faster, too.  I still had no intention of running a marathon, though; that just seemed like unnecessary torture.

Fast forward a few years and I'm running several miles a week.  I loved doing Hood to Coast (this year will by my third time) and then I watched Run Fatboy Run.  Silly movie, I know, and I know it's not real but it got me thinking.  Every year, people who are heavier, slower, less in shape than I complete marathons.  The delusional part of me decided that I needed to run a marathon.  Then I injured my foot and it got put off a year but last fall, as soon as registration for the Portland Marathon was open and before I could change my mind, I signed up.  I still have people who doubt my resolve but I'm going to do it.  Not only because I've told everyone that I'll be running a marathon but also because I paid good money for my spot.  No way I'm letting that money go to waste.

So this year, YES, I am running a marathon.