The Legend of Miss Adventurous, Part 4 - The Real Journey Begins. On Foot.

The year was 1995. I was fourteen, going on fifteen. I was completely nonathletic and spent most of my time buried in books or notebooks. I had bangs (not cute bangs) and long, stringy brown hair (there, I said it, it's not really red) and was for the most part incapable of relating to people, including (especially?) myself and my own feelings.

At the end of Part 3, I mentioned that I started running. Somehow, the summer after 8th grade, I made up my mind that I was going to join the cross country team in high school. My sister had been a cross country and track runner, which is where I got the idea, but I'm still not entirely sure why it appealed to me, given my status as a fat, nerdy, non-shorts-wearing, gym-class avoider. I do remember why I kept doing it though.

The first day I ran for about five minutes before I got winded and had to walk. I knew that it was just about one mile down Woodiebrook road to the bridge though, and I was determined to make it that far, and to run as much as I could. I had no idea what I was doing, but I figured out that I could run a little, then walk a little, and that it was kind of fun to set little mental goals for myself. I'll run until I get to that mailbox. I'll run until I get to the telephone pole. Hell no I'm not running up this hill. I'll run down the other side. For the first time I was challenged by something outside of academics, and although this sounds kind of weird, it felt really good to do something I sucked at! This running thing was harder than it looked!

I set a goal to conquer the one mile to the bridge without walking, and within a few weeks I had done it (thank you adaptable teenage body). By the end of the summer, I could huff and puff all the way there and back without stopping once. I lost weight. I felt awesome. I loved the feeling of overcoming the little "I can't" voice in my head.

When school began, I realized that my sedentary childhood had left me with a handicap on the cross-country course. My first 5K was run in just over 31 minutes which, as a matter of fact, sucks. The next slowest runner on my team was running at about 27 minutes. Rather than getting discouraged, I continued working harder. I became the Little Engine that Could, chipping away at the elusive 10 minute mile split. I had good mentors that year--Sarah and Melanie, the two senior girls on our team, and Patrick, my coach. They saw how hard I was working and how much I was improving and they were always quick to offer advice and encouragement, even though I was the slowest runner on our team during every practice and every race. I don't know if those three people will ever really understand how much the memory of their voices cheers me on every time I try to do something really challenging.

The next year my coach wound up working at a different school. At my first race that year, I saw Patrick on the side, cheering for both us and for his new team, and when he saw me he started hooting and hollering louder than I'd ever heard him before...and with good reason! I finished that race in 26:15. I'll never forget that. It's the fastest I've ever run.

The new coach was different; he wasn't in the business of helping kids improve themselves, he was in the business of winning the conference championship and going to State. He either ignored me or treated me like I didn't belong on the team, and I can't say that my teammates were any better, as cliquey as they were. Instead of improving, my performance went downhill and hovered there. The team did go to the state championship that year. I wasn't even invited.

Still, I managed to stick around all four years. They never acknowledged it (they said my junior year didn't count because I missed two races after I flipped my car over), but I was the only one in my class who started at the beginning and finished at the end. As hurt as I was (and still am) over the lack of recognition, I'm actually kind of glad, because it proves that I did it all for myself.

And now, chasing down the elusive 10 minute mile all over again, I do it for me. Sometimes when people ask why I like to run, I say "oh, it's like meditation." That's true...but that's not really the reason I do it. I like it because it's something that does not come very easy or naturally to me. And I do it to make myself a better person inside and out.