Not a Runner

I'm not a runner, but my recent finish in the B.A.A., 10K solidifies my place among avid joggers. The day before the race, I bumped into a friend and mentioned that I was running a 10K the following morning. She skeptically replied, "You can run a 10K?"

Yes, I know, I don't exactly have a "runner's physique."  I may have mentioned in a previous blog that I like beer. 

I also enjoy "jogging."

My running buddy, Sheila Brown, and I have been running together for about a year.  Sometimes I feel like I have no business trying to keep up with her, but I know neither of us would do much running without the other. So, when she suggested that we enter a road race, I was up for the challenge! Pushing our casual jogging partnership to the next level seemed like the normal course of things.

When you enter your first official 10K at age 39, the ship of you being a serious runner has sailed. I have no delusions that I will ever be taken seriously as a runner. On the day of the race, I put on my favorite homemade tie-dye and borrowed one of my daughter's pink hair bands. At the start, among the winners of the 2011 Boston Marathon, I soon realized that I stood out like a sore thumb. Sheila and I had a good laugh about it as we made our way to the final category of racer in the 10-minute mile pace corral. But I wasn't laughing as hard when I crossed the finish with horrible chafing where my oversized T-shirt did not protect my armpit from rubbing against my jog bra for 6.2 miles. 

I know I'm not really running material, but I have an enormous amount of stress relieved from lacing up my sneakers, turning up the tunes and meeting a good friend for a grueling jog around the neighborhood. And from where I am in my life today, I am completely at peace with being a jogger.