Thoughts on life after racing.
Some reflections after not running for a week.
It’s been a week since the 39th running of the LA Marathon. It was my first race, of many more to come. “The first of infinity,” someone in KRC remarked.
On Monday and Tuesday, I walked like someone who had just learned how to walk for the first time. Somewhere between Pinocchio and a penguin. It was probably the same pace as my 69-year old dad who has had four heart procedures done. I worked the rest of the week, hobbling and fielding questions from regulars and strangers alike about why I was hobbling or how the race went.
I do love writing and coffee. I have not been as forward about those things as I have been about running. I don’t know why. There’s certainly a lot of layers to it, ranging from the economic value, the worth we assign to said value, to general self-esteem issues. Running has taught me to shed those emotions, whatever they may be. Guilt, shame, embarrassment, laziness, blasé. Who gives a shit about being embarrassed? As if I live in a 90s teen movie.
I’ve spent the week looking at shorts with incredibly slutty inseams or half tights. You know what I’m talking about. These bad boys. So short you might as well be running nuts out. As recently as this past August or September, I would have said that’s a little crazy. Now, I would like to own four pairs of them. I haven’t thought about them in terms of “performance” or how I might feel in them, I just think they’re cool.
The half tights are super functional though. I understand why the average American woman owns at least seven different pairs of leggings now. I’ll be sticking with my beat up all-black 874s on my off-days but for running, I’m trying to be thighs out or rocking the half-tights. Unless you’re wearing a singlet, they make it look like you’re always doing the big shirt, tiny pants thing. It’s fire, for clarity.
Running has helped me work through the complicated emotions I’ve had with my body. I’ve been stick skinny my entire life. I don’t experience body dysmorphia or anything of the sort but I’ve always disregarded my body as just a thing. Head, arms, torso, legs, feet. A human body. Not much else to think about.
When I was in elementary school, I got an Allen Iverson jersey one time for my birthday. My parents wrapped it up in a handheld vacuum box; good gag, looking back on it. It later got stolen on my school playground. I cried a good amount about that one. Later, when I played basketball at the local rec center, it was the first time I wore a jersey of my own. Rocking the Iverson made me feel so cool. I didn’t have any words to describe that feeling. It was the closest I could get to feeling like a pro basketball player or an extra in You Got Served. Getting a jersey for a team I was a part of? Different ballgame. I swear we didn’t win one game that season. The jersey made me feel small, or at least my arms. I got a trophy for being the best dribbler on the team though.
I’ve owned two watches in my life. One was around middle school. I can’t remember the brand but I’m fairly certain it was one of those cheapo, mostly reputable brands like a Timex. It was silver and my dad had to help me get it adjusted because the smallest size was still way too big for my wrists. The original size went up to my forearm, almost to my elbow. I wanted to like it. It made me feel more like A Guy. It just made my arms feel really tiny.
The other watch is a Timex, an Ironman Essential 30. It sits in my drawer in our nightstand next to various running knick-knacks like compression sleeves and also the two belts I own because I don’t have anywhere else to put them. I bought it a little over a month ago so I could stop pulling my phone out of my shorts to check the time. It was a life-saver during the marathon, especially during the final 10k stretch when I was cutting it close on my goal time.
I’ve learned to love my body and what it can do. Growing up, I think I was just irritated having been inundated by the disingenuous messaging of body positivity. I sometims feel like ads are telling me “it’s your body, get used to it, loser” rather than literally anything that’s supposed to make me feel better. Running helped me get there on my own. Every time I feel my legs pumping after a run or my knees start to tighten, I can listen to my body and feel good. I trust myself. I trust my body. I love my body and what it can do. I’ve also learned to respect my body and what it can’t do — yet.
Ice baths are crazy. They’re like the polar opposite of ego death. I am so painfully locked in to my physical being. Somehow, it’s an out-of-body experience and also like I’m having a disturbing body transformation akin to a fucking Cronenberg movie. It sounded simple enough. Buy a few ice bags, dump ‘em in your tub, get in the tub. It was simple. Way too simple.
I screamed for a solid two, maybe three, minutes. My girlfriend found it pretty funny. Our dog kind of just stared with a slight head tilt before going back to napping on the ground. She started a timer and left the bathroom to continue making dinner while I sat in the tub while my brain was being rewired. Thankfully, we had two cans of Terra sitting in the back of our fridge. I don’t know if I was actually tasting anything, I think the temperature of the beer relative to the ice bath felt good. I wouldn’t say warm, just good. Every sip was oddly humanizing. I lasted a solid 15 minutes. Now I can say I’ve had a Terra somewhere other than a Korean BBQ spot.
I think most, if not all, dudes think this but I’ve always wanted to have that moment wherein a pro athlete turns to the crowd and yells. Younger me would be going crazy. Dudes just wanna go “LFG” and have other people agree. It’s me, I’m dudes.
I’m lucky to have a partner who was so incredibly supportive of me, who pushed me to follow my heart and finish what I started. Several people have asked both me and her, “When are you gonna join us for a run?” We just laugh. (She hates running.)
Running has given me so many new friendships. I discovered a community so supportive, like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. This sport is amazing because there are people who can and will put their all into it. There’s also people who need to make time, and distance running requires so much of it. Long runs, warmup, recovery. Not to mention the nutrition, hydration, and discipline it takes. Carb loading, electrolytes, fueling. It’s a commitment and the commitment I’ve seen in this sport is truly incredible.
This week, I met people who I’d never talked to before but knew my name and knew how hard I’d worked to get to mile 26.2. No assumptions, no givens. Just acknowledgment. I want to be around for other people, old and new, as people in this community have been for me. Running has helped me grow, but more importantly, it taught me to be better. In a lot of ways, not just physically, mentally, or what have you. I’m not just better but better together.
I’d be lying if I said I don’t get jealous still. I think I’m getting better at this too. We live in a cold world, it’s hard not to envy those we perceive to have more than us. This new community I’ve found myself in, I’ve learned to lighten up. I don’t scroll on Instagram and think, “Wow, I wish that were me.” Now I see people do great things or travel to amazing places and think, “Wow, I’m so happy for them.” (I mean, I still sometimes wish it were me but the latter still applies.)
Next year is the 40th anniversary of the LA Marathon. We’re gonna fuck that thing up.