Running with Heavy Feet

The thought of leisurely running, if that’s what you want to call it, is the last item on a long to-do list for a mom of two who works full time and opts to cook dinner more than ordering takeout.

A nearly five year gap between running. That’s how long it’s been. I went from running nearly 3.5 miles a day, 1 or 2 times a week to not at all.

The last time “I’m going running” left my lips was a year before my son was born. Two kids later, I laced up my running shoes, head to the nearest park and ran for the first time. Twenty minutes and 1.35 miles later, I was exhausted. My legs: jello-like. My lungs: deflated. My joints: crumbling. My spine: still in one crooked piece.

My pace was mediocre at best. Not the 9 minute 30 second mile pace my body was once familiar with, but good enough for someone who is getting back to it for the first time in several years.

Every pounding motion forward, my feet hit the pavement and rattled my teeth. One at a time, I was forced to pull them from the black quicksand the moment I shuffled from a sad walk to a light jog. Forget almost losing my sneakers, I could feel the weight of my phone as it dangled in my front pocket – I don’t remember it being that heavy.

Hitting the half-mile marker was an adventure. Hitting that minor point in my run brought me back my younger years when I was in better shape than I am now that I’m in my 30s. The one part of my workout routine I despised was running.

In my early teens – yes, we’re going that far back – I spent three to four days a week working out an hour or more per day. If I wasn’t at the karate studio, I was getting a workout in with a few amateur boxers in former golden glove winner’s make-shift boxing gym he built in his garage on Avenue R in Brooklyn. No matter the season, my warmups on my boxing workout days were a few running laps around the block. My feet didn’t feel as heavy then but my lungs often went into a panicked state, my jaw cramped and ears would burn.

Weightlifting, shadow boxing, and a couple of rounds on the heavy bag were no problem. But running, yuck.

If someone asked me, “what got you into running?” I wouldn’t have a meaningful answer. It would somewhat align with the response of a certain fictional character played by Tom Hanks in the 1994 classic “Forrest Gump”

I just felt like running. However, it’s mostly because I refuse to but another round of postpartum clothes to fit into so I need to eventually fit into what I’ve got. Not the answer you were probably hoping for, but that’s the truth.

I’m back at it next week. Wish me luck!