I’m so tired of running.

If that sounds like a euphemism for facing some important life issue, I guess it is. What I mean, though, is I’m tired of long distance running.

I’ve had a on again off again relationship with running for the past thirty years, but we’ve been in a very committed relationship for the past decade or more. Over the past eleven years, I have run ten or eleven major races, including three marathons.  Why go the distance? A little voice told me to.  A little voice told me 5 and 10k were not a commitment. 21.1k was a real commitment – and 42.2k was marriage.

Whatever.

Like many marriages these days, I’m about to file for divorce.

While I can’t say I gave it my all and left it all on the course, I did finish. I’ve crossed that beeping finish line (seriously, in case you didn’t know, finish lines beep) and called a panting, sweaty end to our bond. I made a new vow – no more marathons.

During my race, I passed several signs along the way that I have seen in previous races and used to inspire me but now totally piss me off. If I actually had had the stamina and could spit out the words, here’s how I would have replied:

“Toenails are for sissies!” 

Toenails are not for sissies, they’re for people. I am very attached to my toenails and I think we should stick together. Nevertheless, my toenails look like sissies right now.

 “You’ve done dumber things when you’re drunk.”

True. Very true. I agreed to my first marathon when I was drunk so maybe it really is time to lay off the vino.

 “Run like you stole something.”

I did. All my senses (and feeling below the waist).

 “… because 42.3 kms would be crazy!”

Who’s you trying to kid?! 42.2 is crazy.

 I love your endurance … call me!”

OK, but don’t touch me. I hurt all over.

 “Your perspiration is my inspiration.”

Gross.

 “I’m sure it seemed like a good idea 4 months ago”

It did, but I changed my mind about three months ago.

I’m hobbling around for the next few days, clutching the banister for support. Why did I do this to myself? Maybe celebrating my 50th birthday last year made me think I should do another marathon, as kind of a midlife fitness double-dog dare. Maybe it’s because my brother has done countless marathons and I’m not mature enough to refrain from sibling rivalry.  Maybe I was temporarily insane. I’m experiencing the opposite of that euphoric ‘runner’s high’. Whatever the reason, I’m done. I don’t want to run a marathon again. That marriage is over.

I am, however, totally up for a fling with a 5k, or a one-night stand with a 10k!

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12 Responses to RIP 42.2

  • Wow. Congrats on both doing it and thinking about giving it up. I am a 5 km girl. I can walk forever for 5 km is my limit for running. It helps that I don’t have a competitive bone in my body.

  • Astra, I live vicariously through you, sister. Congratulations on completing your marathon! The last time I did any running was back in the 70s. It was compulsory that students run one mile, once a week. The Physical Ed. teacher (who I still hate to this day) was named Mr. Crawford. I can still hear him shouting, “Bella, pick up the pace, child. My granny in a wheelchair runs faster than you!” The humiliation. I blame him for my hatred of running. Nowadays, the only time I would ever run is if Javier Bardem is in the vicinity! 🙂

    • Well Bella sorry for your Mr. Crawford experience but I’m glad Javier would still make you sprint – you’d have to knock me over on your way though 😉

  • Yeah – more time for writing – and we all benefit from that! Thanks for thinking of us!

  • You go, girl! I envy your ability to run. Age has hit me with a 2 by 4. But I’m thankful for the long walks I can take with my dogs. Let’s just say, physical therapy really works! If not for PT, i’d be walking with a cane about now.

    • Like you Monica, I just want to continue to be mobile! I need to dial it down so I’m not doing too much of the wrong PT (physiotherapy!)

  • I’m just starting down that road…thinking of doing my first 5k this fall. It’s just one of those things ya know…I’ll let you know what happens. Hopefully, it’s just a fling and it will stop as quickly as it starts. 🙂

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About Astra
Ottawa mom of 3 poking fun at myself, motherhood, and minor hockey! I am steering through life dodging stinky hockey gear and empty wine bottles.
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