that which I loathe for that which I love

One day an interesting little creature called "27" knocked on my door. It wanted to give me some important information regarding my health and personal fulfillment. "Thanks, not interested," I muttered as I closed the door square in its face. But 27 was pretty relentless. It knocked every single day for many months until I, exhausted from this nonsense, shouted, "WHAT?!?" with exasperated contempt.

It seems that 27 knew that I would eventually listen, so despite the visible proof that I was at my wits' end, it calmly reported, "You know, it's really not going to get any better from here on out. In fact, it's going to get loads more difficult."

"What are you talking about?" I said.

"Look, all I'm saying," it continued, "is that you might want to think about asking your dad if you can have his old treadmill." It then walked off my doorstep and left me alone to think about the doom it had just delivered.

And so it began. Sort of.

I walked about an hour nightly on Dad's old Sears 1983 Classic until it burned out with a great snap, several sparks, and two tripped circuit breakers. And not quite a year after 27 showed up the first time, it knocked again, this time bringing its friend 28 with it. They looked at me and 27 said, "well, this one says I was right...and you might want to step it up a bit. " 28 said, "maybe an elliptical." Because I saw distinct changes in my body after the advice of 27 (who, by the way, also convinced me to stop eating horribly), I decided that 28 was probably a knowledgeable soul, and I bought an elliptical.

Then about a year later (they've been rather habitual), 28 showed up with 29 on its arm. "This one says," but I stopped the conversation with, "I'm not running." 28 looked very uncomfortable and fidgeted, while 29 grinned a toothy, Cheshire cat grin, "well, it's up to you..." and then it morphed a bit and everything horrifically dropped an inch lower than where it stood on 28.

"I'm doing 45-50 minutes on the elliptical, that's FANTASTIC!" I argued. They looked at each other. 28 seemed to think I had a point, but the other was unfazed.

"I DON'T RUN. I'VE NEVER, EVER RUN. I CAN'T RUN," I shouted.

"That's fine," 29 calmly responded, and everything dropped another ghastly quarter inch.

"FINE! FINE! FINE!"

So I started running, if you can call it that. I'm not sure jogging slowly for 4/10 of a mile before crumpling into a gasping, crying heap is considered running, but we'll pretend for the moment. It was all true, what I had told those folks at the door, I have never in my life been able to run. I've blamed it on a lot of things, some of which are legitimate excuses and some of which are merely "people who run are crazy"--and let's be honest, that is a pretty weak argument coming from my lips. I was fine with the Kettle moniker, though.

My boss, an avid runner, told me in the beginning that it was all a mind game, and that I just had to keep going no matter what my head was telling me. In the early stages this was complete bull because, let me tell you, my head kind of wanted to keep going, but my lungs jumped out of my mouth and walked themselves back home to a nice hot shower, leaving me panting for air in the street. Nevertheless, it eventually started to get...tolerable...and pretty soon I was running 3/4 of a mile, and feeling pretty great about that.

The boss is the person who suggested this, my first big run. Our office is running as a team, and you see, there are two other pretty big hooks involved. Anyone who knows me knows that I am one of those alums who is passionate obsessive about everything University of Michigan, especially Michigan football. This race starts and ends in Michigan Stadium, and really there are not many places on this earth I'd rather be than in that stadium. I can tie some pretty big life events to moments on those grounds, which is not at all pathetic in any way thankyouverymuch, and this would be just that.

It also allows me to do something good for something I've recently come to love: 826michigan. I am beyond proud to serve on this organization's board of directors; I am proud to be associated with them in any capacity. As a child I would have killed to have a group dedicated to helping me write, somewhere where I could go and they would understand how important that was to me. Somewhere where my aspirations would be nurtured, and where I felt important. Because really, that's what goes on at 826--young writers are encouraged, inspired, and given so many opportunities to do what they love. Please please please check out their website, as listed on the side of this blog. I swear to you this is such a cool, incredibly important thing.

So I am running my (deleted) off, which I hate more than insert inflammatory political commentary or nutmeg, because it's good for my body; my mind; and most importantly for 826michigan, the U of M Program for Neurology Research & Discovery and Mott Women's and Children's hospitals. And yes, I'm asking for money. Here's how it works:

A portion of my entry fee goes to neurology research and Mott. Any donations I receive go directly to 826michigan--no red tape. If you'd like to donate, please click on the link that says "donate" (I'm trying to make it simple here, folks). The link will lead you to a paypal site so you can use your credit card and don't have to write a check--does anyone even know what a check is anymore? You will receive a receipt, because your donation to this 501(c)(3) organization is fully tax deductible.

I will also keep posting updates here, because I'm pretty sure that my lungs are planning a rebellion even more violent than that of several months ago, and that just might make for interesting reading. Currently I'm up to running 2 miles on a regular basis. The furthest I've run without stopping is 27 minutes, just over 2.5 miles. I have about seven weeks until the race, and I am pretty sure I can make it to 5k by September 30, as long as all my demons cooperate.