I’m sweating as I pound on the keys of my 2005 Gateway. I have accidentally caused my body to cleanse itself through my newly acquired love of running.
I have a hard time choking down the word “cleansing,” mostly because of the irrational elitist connotation which exists in my mind. I mean, I’m not about to suck down wheat grass and cayenne pepper-flavored water for three weeks to rid my body of its evils. I’ve always come from the school of thought that the best way to cleanse oneself is a long hot shower, and maybe a $10 Neutrogena facial.
I also feel the need to preface this anecdote with the disclaimer that I’m not really an advocate of regular exercise. I judge not those who prefer napping to structured movement. I love nothing more than a box of Nilla Wafers and seeing how many hours I can nap. To be honest, I feel like a fake when I strap on my running shoes.
My running habit began more as an experiment, rather than a genuine desire to better my body, mind and spirit (all of which I believe can be enhanced by a box of Nilla Wafers).
Before I transferred to St. Mike’s, I hung around a bunch of crazies at the University of Connecticut. And for your information, “crazy” is synonymous with “distance runner.” Bless you, distance runners, for your extreme chemical imbalance, which usually manifests itself as a dedication to aerobics. I love you all.
But I am not one of you.
Each Saturday I would watch as floormates roused for 8 a.m. “long runs,” while I contemplated which was a better remedy for my hangover, coffee or the rest of last night’s Keystone?
I assumed a “long run” referred to maybe three miles or so, because at that point in my life, I began sweating like The Scarlet Letter's Hester Prynne at Sunday Mass, when I hit about a quarter of a mile. As a child, my primary motivation for moving quickly was chasing down the ice-cream man. My frame of reference quickly changed when I found out my friends were running 12 miles every Saturday.
Woah.
I wrote them off as insane, while maintaining a mild intrigue in their madness.
I acted on that intrigue when I was faced with a large amount of free time this summer.
I learned that fitness and the human body are tremendous when combined. The first few weeks were absolutely awful. My lungs constantly felt like they were shredding. I would time myself, arbitrarily, pretending I could somehow efficiently measure my progress.
In retrospect I was being ridiculous, though I noticed some genuine subtle changes. Some were physical, but most of the benefits were mental. As cliché as it may sound, I developed a clearer, albeit sweatier head.
There were drawbacks. Have you ever seen that awkward runner, drenched and red, with a pained look on her face? That would be me. Not to mention I require a headband and an iPod strapped to my arm.
No, I’m no vision of composure when I ask my heart to beat that quickly. However, the feeling of sweat beading at your brow offers some incentive.
It is a tangible reminder that you are capable of more than you assume. Running has more or less allowed me to channel that in a direct way.
I’ll try to keep the trite, existential, nonsense to a minimum. But I will say that it is an activity worth trying. If not for anything else, it is the perfect reason to justify mass consumption of Nilla Wafers. |
