Learning to Run

I pulled on my Airwalks, my xxl sweatpants, a t-shirt and sweatshirt, a toboggan, and gloves and headed out to change my life.

My energetic, ever supportive 10 year old son, Caleb, joined me. In retrospect, I think it may have been a bit like going to the zoo for him. What strange, new animal is this? My dad...exercising?!

Parnell Street was a .20 mile stretch that ran behind our house in Pittsburgh. It was where folks who lived on Gladstone Street, like us, parked; mainly because the walk to and from your car was easier. Downhill from car to house, not nearly as steep in reverse. Few of us owned a garage.

It was also relatively flat and didn't see much traffic, especially at night after everyone was home from work, hibernating in front of their tv's trying to stay warm. Seemed a good place to start running.

My plan was simple. I'd jog as long as I could and stop. Tomorrow I'd repeat. And so on. There was no goal for time nor distance. Just jog off some more of this fat butt, couple that with a more reasonable diet, and work down to a healthy weight.

Walking out the back door and up our sidewalk and steps to the freshly plowed street, I cursed Denise a bit for suggesting running. Once the trees shed their leaves, there's nothing shielding the biting wind that howls down the Monongahela River in October announcing the arrival of winter in Pittsburgh. While I don't recommend it, I have willingly swum and tubed in the Mon, which is one of a handful of north flowing rivers in the U.S. In Pittsburgh it was once lined with majestic steel mills that pumped smog into the sky and money into the pockets of Andrew Carnegie and Henry Clay Frick. We lived about a half mile uphill from the river.

The wind was lively this evening as we trudged up to Parnell. A new snow had fallen that day, and while it was night, the crisp, clear sky allowed the moon and a few stars to illumine our neighborhood in a surprisingly lovely way.  The view down river, over the tops of Gladstone's houses to downtown Pittsburgh gave me weird sense of 'home.' I don't feel at home much.

I looked at Caleb, watching me with a twinkle in his eye. I was quite glad he was with me because a) there'd be a witness to this historic event, b) since he was there I could not back out and c) if I collapsed in a heap, he could quickly run home and tell Denise.

I don't remember if we talked or stretched. I only remember this. I 'ran' about .15 miles that day and felt like I was going to die. My feet hurt (possibly the shoes were not right), my side hurt, and I could not breath.

I'd like to blame the frigid air for my struggle, but I must be honest. This, for me, was liking starting up Mt. Everest with none of the right gear, no guide and absolutely no sense of direction except 'up.'

Realizing that that was all I had in the tank that night was humbling. It frightened me, really. How in the world had I allowed myself to get so horribly out of shape? Was I going to be able to change? Did anyone  happen to glance out their window and see me bouncing down the street?

Fear and fighting with my body were going to be two incredible obstacles.

The most important thing I took from this first experience with running was the value of a partner. In the 11 years since I have run the vast majority of my miles alone. But, none of the hardest could have been possible without someone next to me or cheering me on.

So, thanks Denise, for pushing me out the door. And, thanks Caleb, for coming along for that freakshow of a night.

Step One.