Anatomy of a Run

Here's how my run usually goes:

I start out walking, testing, feeling each part of my legs as I go and making a mental list. Knees are ok, calves are usually tight, ankles and and achilles ache monstrously. Normal.

I start to jog, and the ache turns to a burn, and it hurts and everything kind of starts to hurt in every major part of my body--my lungs, shoulders and neck, the inside of my nose from trying to control my breathing. I feel the pain move through me and I try to talk myself out of it, talk myself through it, talk myself into liking it. I do like the feeling of my pounding heart, although I wish it wouldn't start so soon after I did.

I make it up the hill that's in the first .5 of my run. Once I get up there, it smooths out a little. Even ground, and I pass a lot of people walking, taking, pushing babies, babies themselves toddling around. I pass other runners and I'm usually absentmindedly chagrined at how much better they seem at this whole thing. I have a lot of daydreams, and lot of imaginings that run through my head. Also a lot of words. There's still a lot of pain, but it's a cohesive kind of pain, the kind that lets me know my body is working together to make me move fast and slow, albeit reluctantly. I'm 25 but I feel much older.

I loop around a traffic circle one time, twice if I'm feeling ambitious, and it is about the halfway point of my run. The traffic circle is definitely the climax--the rest of it is level with slight uphill and mostly downhill in parts, and I don't like that as much, it hurts my knees and makes it harder to run at a consistent pace, which I'm terrible at anyway. I pine for dance studios. I was much better at moving my body gracefully than mechanically.

I sometimes try to imagine what it would feel like to be a graceful runner, one of those gazelles who seems to float over the pavement, consistently underweight and flying. I was a dancer with a thick torso, always. My belly sticks out and creates lumps and bumps where there should be smoothness and ironically I think about this just as much while I run as when I danced. I was a good dancer. I am not a good runner, but I'm determined to get there.

I pass nail salons and pet stores and I always try to sneak a peak at the puppies. I pass a clothing store and promise myself that I will let myself buy something from them as soon as I think I'll feel comfortable in their clothes and lose a few pounds. I pass a lot of smokers and it annoys me--it messes with my breathing.

I reach the last stretch and the app on my phone is usually telling me I've been running for 25 minutes. Depending on where I am before home, I sprint some of the way to get close to a time or beat my time or just to get my heart rate back up one last time. At this point when I lick my lips I taste salt. Sweat is usually pouring down my face and though my face is beet red and I'm a sweaty mess and my hair looks awful. But that's ok. I get home, resist the urge to sit down on the couch, and always forget to stretch my calves so they are blindingly sore tomorrow.