Step Two: Break Records

It was a cold and stormy day, when something great happened. Sitting in art history class, I made an important decision: Today is the day I will break my distance record. People sometimes will ask me what inspires me to run the miles I do, and I can't really explain it, but all it takes is for me to have a single moment of determination. For the rest of my class, I focused on how many miles I would run, what music I would listen to, what I would eat after, and what treadmill I hoped to snag at the gym. When we were finally dismissed, I was completely focused on getting to the gym so I could embark on my goal.

Ten minutes later, when I was suited up in my favorite leggings and Grace Potter band tee, I arrived at the fitness center to find that my favorite treadmill was taken. Why is this treadmill my favorite? Because, it faces the TV, duh! While I waited for the girl to get off I half heatedly did some abs and arm work until I was able to claim my spot in the cardie room. And then it was off to the races. I wasn't exactly sure how many miles I wanted to run, but I wanted to get somewhere above the seven miles. I was holding a pretty steady pace for the first three miles, but when I got after the five mile mark, I really started to feel drained. I started doing this crazy thing that I sometimes do to get me going again-- I dropped my arms and ran with them straight by my sides, and began taking huge leaps with my legs, kicking my behind in order to get a good stretch. I should also mention that I am known to sing or mouth the words of whatever I'm listening to under my breath. Yes, I am that crazy girl at the gym. But it's what get's me moving. Another talent I've aquired as a runner, is texting while running. A dangerous, but all together important skill when I am need of a burst of inspiration. My boyfriend is used to receiving these broken up sometimes illegible texts, telling him how many more miles I want to do, where I am, or what I want to DEVOUR after my workout. Around the 6 mile point on my trek I sent him a series of frantic text messages:

I should stop? Do what feels comfortable? Challenge accepted. Now I just wanted to show him I could do it and not drop dead. Ten minutes or so later... I DID IT! 8 MILES IN THE BANK! A NEW RECORD! I have never felt so proud of myself then I have today. Never would I have thought I would be able to accomplish something like this. And you know what? It only makes me want to run longer and further.

What should my next goal be? What is the farthest you've ever run? More importantly: What gets you going?  

Step One: Getting Off On The Right Foot

Hi, my name is Lauren! I am twenty years old, and a junior in college. Though fitness and health have always been interests of mine, they have not always been a positive aspect of my life. Early on in my childhood I was pushed to keep up with my older siblings legendary athletic careers that reigned in our small town. Both of my sisters were successful competitive swimmers that went on to maintain and push their careers through college. My brother possessed a few titles and medals of his own in football, hockey, and baseball, so it seemed only natural that I would be able to proudly display the family name on whichever jersey I chose.

I was a slightly obese, and over-aggressive eight year old when I was made to sign up for my first sport: soccer. I hated every second of it. My attitude about the game was as dark as the tacky black jersey I donned. I could not fathom why I was expected to run aimlessly around the field for the mere chance to maybe touch the ball with my huge clumsy feet. So I didn’t. I literally refused to run and spent most games lumbering about midfield as far away from the action as possible.

Then came basketball. I have three memories of being on a basketball team.

1.) On the day of my first practice, we were warming up by running the length of the gym as fast as we could. The second I noticed I how far I had fallen behind from the other kids, I ran straight out the door into my dad’s pickup truck where I, as the overemotional girl I am, began to cry until he felt bad enough to buy my an immense amount of candy.

2.) Once I got mad in a game and elbowed a boy in the gut and was called out.

3.) I quit.

When I was about 12, I was then pushed by my dad to sign up for the local softball league. This, I wasn’t so bad at. I secured and earned a spot as a decent pitcher, a position that allowed me to stay in one spot without the threat of much running or engaging in much movement at all. Softball stuck with me throughout my days in middle school and I truly did enjoy it for the most part.

Then came my first love: volleyball. Finally I had found something I was good at! I began my career in the 7^th grade on a modified team.  This was the year I began to shape up, and really throw myself into a sport. I have never worked harder at anything than I did at volleyball. Every summer I would go to as many camps in the area as possible. I spent a week in Vermont at an esteemed camp where I began to rack up trophies and awards for my passing and setting accuracy.  But something changed with my relationship to the sport in high school and it progressively grew more stressful than fun. 

In order to stay in shape, I did a few seasons of track where again, my nerves got the best of me and I spent most meets, scratching my heats and watching from the sidelines.

Now, I run. Not with a team, or a coach or at the request of my family, but for myself. It was something I never thought I would be able to do, and it hasn’t always been easy. When I first started running in college, I would drop from exhaustion after a mile. Now, I run everyday sometimes for stretches up to ten miles. I can’t explain what changed when I went to college and made me want to pursue something I spend most of the time hating or watching from the sidelines but it keeps me balanced and calmed and focused, and makes me happier than any other sport has. Not many people know about my early morning runs, or hours at the gym, where I push myself to run just one more mile. And I like it that way. There is no pressure from home or family—it’s just me.

This is a blog about my journey to complete my first marathon. I am giving myself a year to train, and come next fall I will be racing towards the finish line.