Ruralite Cafe: Published 08/29/02

By Lisa Majors-Duff - News Editor

Finding the courage to run in the moonlight

Challenges began to mount early, threatening to nix my participation in the race. For starters, my third-grader woke up several times Friday night, a clear sign of impending doom as far as her immune system is concerned.

Sure enough, as the sun rose Saturday morning, it seemed to take with it my child's temperature, warming her beyond its plans for the rest of the day. Her skin from head to toe reached "fry-an-egg-on-her" hot before breakfast, which she skipped, along with lunch and dinner.

Then the rain began to fall, even with a clearly visible sun shining in a mostly blue sky. I've run in the rain before and really don't mind it. That kind of running is known as a "twofer"; it comes complete with a shower. It's the resulting humidity that sucks the life right out of you I was concerned about.

Finally, my own mind began talking me out of the race. For months now I've been doing my cardio workouts first thing in the morning. I started hitting the trail no later than 6:45 a.m. to avoid running in the heat of the afternoon. Could I run at 8:30 in the evening?

But the bigger, longer, harder question was this: Could I run 5 miles at 8:30 in the evening? I'd never attempted that distance before. What made me think I could do it?

"I won't run if you don't want me to," I told my daughter as we cuddled and watched the rain drip from the bird feeders on the porch. At that point I was ready to hear her sweet voice say, "Don't run, Mommy; stay with me."

Instead, she said just the opposite. With a froggy voice, the result of what turned out to be strep throat, she said, "No, mommy. You have to run. You already registered."

After that there was no way I was going to let her, or myself, down. So what if it was going to be hot; I ran a couple of miles in the "SUN"shine State while on vacation earlier this month. Who cares if it's 5 miles (An 8K is actually 4.8 miles, but who's counting?); it's just 45 or so minutes of my life, right? And my very own, personal cheerleader would be there, bedded down in a sleeping bag in the back of the Explorer with her grandparents watching after her.

Just like that the race was over, and I never thought to look at my time. Sprinting toward the finish line, I knew my daughter needed to be home in her own bed more than I needed to know how slow I ran.

Post-race stiffness and a tomato-faced cherub unhappily greeted me Sunday morning, making me wonder why I or anyone else would pay good money to torture themselves on a Saturday night, a night meant for celebration. That's when I picked up Dagny Scott's "Complete Book of Women's Running," a source of much inspiration, and found the answer. She puts it like this in her description of the progression from jogger to runner:

"When does a jogger become a runner? Here's a hint: It has little to do with going faster. There is no cutoff speed per mile, no magic number of miles per week, no firm starting point at which the moniker is bestowed.

"The difference between the two exists primarily as a mind-set. While some women are content with jogging as a fitness activity, others find that running gets under their skin and becomes a part of their fiber. Much like playing an instrument or keeping a journal, what you get out of running is not determined by how good you are at it. The job of participation is not an exclusive commodity reserved for the elite runner any more than it is for the concert pianist.

"Women turn from joggers into runners for different reasons and at different stages. For one woman, the transformation might occur when she realizes that she no longer runs to keep her weight down but rather to keep her sanity. For another, it might be the night before a trip, when, she is packing, she realizes that she must take her running shoes because she can't bear to miss a week of workouts. For still another woman, it might be that her schedule barely allows her a morning jog, yet she surprises herself when she finds that she describes herself as a runner.

"Once a woman becomes a runner, she finds that the sport is woven into the fabric of her life. Whereas running might have been only a vehicle before - to fitness or to weight loss, for example - it now becomes that rarest of things: a means and an end. To a runner, running is still a means of strength and health, of exploration an socialization. But unlike the jogger, who seeks only external results, the runner find that the very act itself is enough; running is the thing she craves. Within it is a new sense of wonder at the power of movement - whether labored or light - over ground, the rise and fall of breath in her chest. When a woman knows this feeling, she knows that she cannot do without running. And thus is born a runner."

And thus, Saturday night was a celebration after all.

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