I hate the physical act of running.
For as far back as I can remember, running was something I did only when I had to in school or when it was part of some other recreation. I would run while playing football, basketball, or soccer. I would not run for the sake of running.
I never realized my greatest objection to running until after I was diagnosed and treated for exercise-induced asthma. Even while playing the aforementioned sports, the heavy breathing, gasping for air, and mucus-producing coughs were not enough to turn me off from playing those sports - in fact, at some level I think I fed off of those symptoms. It was my competitive nature shining through - that despite the fact that I couldn't hardly breathe I was still out there giving it my all. I used it as some sort of validation for not being able to keep up with the athletes due to my lack of natural athletic gifts. I wasn't good, but I had heart. But within the context of running for the sake of running, there was no competitive driving force to keep me out there pushing myself to my physical limits. Running was a choice, and an easy one to avoid.
This all changed over the past few years.
At first, running became a means to an end. I wanted to lose weight. I entered into a competition at work to measure who could lose the most weight in the time available - roughly four months. The competitor in me knew there were two changes I had to make to lose weight: change my diet and start exercising. I researched all of the legitimate diets to find the one that would enable the most weight loss in the shortest amount of time (a Keto/Paleo hybrid) and decided that running would be my exercise. For the first time, I committed to confronting my respiratory nemesis head-on.
I met my weight-loss goal of 40 pounds right on the mark. The other goal I had set for myself was to run my first 5k - which in July of 2012, on probably the hottest day of the year, I ran and completed my first 5k. The eye-opening part of this race was that though I had become a reasonably fit person, I was the only person hacking, coughing and gasping for air after the race. Even the guys toting around 50% more mass were coasting into the finish well-ahead of me, or behind me, and were fine. This was when it became clear that I had a problem.
I was tested (inconclusively) for asthma - because it only affects me when I exercise and they didn't make me exercise - but my doctor still treated me for the symptoms I described. I could tell fairly soon after I started taking the medication that my breathing was improving, but falling out of routine in taking the medicine stunted my progress.
Fast forward a couple years, and now I have gotten to a very regular routine for taking the medicine. This year, I decided once again that it was time to get back on the running bandwagon and try to lose some weight. I registered for races and set goals for myself to ensure I keep up with it, but most importantly, I just ran.
As I stated in the opening of this post, I hate running - still do - but I have come to appreciate the competition of running. Running is a mental competition between your mind and your body to see who is willing to give up first. The major difference however, is that I have eliminated the major advantage that my body had over my mind - I can now breathe when I run. Whereas before I would hear my body saying things like "I hurt and I can't breathe, just stop." Now, I am able to argue back and say "I hurt, but not enough to stop" and so I go on. That is the exhilaration that keeps me going: to do even better than I did before. Medals and awards are nice if not surprising when they come. But to be able to run for almost two hours straight and logging nine miles in the process, thinking the entire time that I am not even the slightest bit out of breath - that is what feeds my ambition to keep running.
At some point, the novelty of breathing may wear off, but the amazement of being able to see the progress I have made over the years never will.
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