Running and me

Before my recent vacation in New York, I was trying to exercise regularly--getting to the gym every other day, taking classes, doing some cardio on the elliptical, hitting the weights, etc. Every once in a while, I even did running on the treadmill--though it was not my favorite. If you've ever seen a runner who's pulled something and is jogging it out, that's kind of how I look from the get-go: body crumpled together, feet clomping forward as if some invisible rubber band is limiting my gait, my face in a yawn of discomfort, breathing hard, and draped in copious sweat.

During my recent vacation in New York, we made a trip to meet Tracy, the final sibling (that I had yet to meet) of Josh, my sister's fiance. I had met his two brothers before and I was finally going to meet his sister. We drove up to her home in Connecticut late Friday afternoon and got there early evening. Their home is this incredible self-designed home with a pool, tree house, multiple gardens--it was like out of a magazine. But it wasn't ostentatious--they're a DIY family where the husband likes to build things and the surroundings were hand-crafted, designed, grown, or built by them.

Josh's young nephew ran up in his swim suit, fresh out of the pool when we arrived. His super fit twenty-something babysitter bounced up in her size 2 bikini behind him chatting about a night swim and asking if we were hungry. Josh introduced her as Tracy, his sister. The sister that was ostensibly close to my age and in theory produced two kids. All I remember was staring at her shredded body and blurting out that she was by far, the fittest sibling in the family. Turns out she's a runner...as in marathon runner.

She offered to take my sister and me on a short 2 mile run the next morning (after her early 10 mile run with her running buddy). Sure! After all, I've been working out.

Okay, the one thing I learned about running is that it I really need to know where the finish is. I realize now that I had pretty much gunned the first mile downhill. I felt like a flippin' gazelle as I bounded down the hill. We took a brief break in the middle of the run so the dog could have a dip in the lake. Turns out the second half was uphill--that killed my inner gazelle.

By then I was breathing so loud out my mouth, I could only make out a few words Tracy was saying--lunch...goat cheese...almonds...And I swear at this point, she was walking--that's how slow my running was. Then I recognized her long driveway and managed to get some gumption and totally sprinted up the final 70 yards to her porch as a personal finish line. Finish big, I was once told.

Holy crap. If I thought I was breathing hard before, I was like, drowning after my crazy sprint. I was so glad my body chose to make a collective effort to huff air rather than some more embarrassing bodily function, like vomiting or involuntarily evacuating my bladder, as I clutched the railing on the porch in front of everyone. Eventually I was able to drink/gasp down a quart of water. I survived.

So different from a treadmill.

I haven't figured which one is worse.