Ruralite Cafe: Published 10/04/01

By Lisa Majors-Duff - News Editor

Finishing first 5K was most satisfying

I had one of these experiences Saturday in Cullowhee. It did not involve saliva-swapping or vehicles, but it did involve a lot of sweat. I ran in my first 5K during Mountain Heritage Day.

For most of my life I have been violently allergic to exercise. Just the thought of walking to the refrigerator used to give me a painful case of the hives. It shames me to admit it now, but I used to be a classic parking lot vulture, circling patiently until a spot opened close to the front door.

That all changed last summer. The reasons are many and complicated, but mostly I felt an overwhelming desire to get out of the house, turn off my brain and move around. So I walked. Up the road, down the road, past barking dogs, and just out of the way of neighbors driving themselves home after work at night.

When the walking became too easy, I added the running, but just on the downhill parts of my route. When even that did not cause my heart rate to race to my satisfaction, I took on the hills at a steady jog. Neither ozone warnings nor sheets of rain nor lightly falling snow deterred me. If the temperature was above freezing this past winter, I'd bundle up and take off.

Though I'm out of the house and moving, I've rarely been able to turn off my brain during my road workouts. In fact, I spend more time now mentally writing stories and crafting headlines while running than in I do while taking a shower, where some of my best story leads previously originated.

I've only been running seriously and steadily for about six months, at least four times a week. My loop route is about 2.5 miles if I do it once or 4 miles if I do it twice. (That's not new math; it doesn't add up because there's a part of the road I do not repeat.)

Wanting to stretch my legs a little on new dirt, I added weekend trips to Western Carolina University's jogging trail this summer. And since my daughter's soccer practice has called for me to spend time at the county recreation park this fall, I've taken several laps around Cullowhee Valley School.

The Mountain Heritage Day 5K road race seemed like the next logical step. Yes, it would be a mile longer than I'd yet been able to run at one time. Yes, there would be many entered in the race younger and stronger than I. No, I would not come anywhere close to winning. But none of these things mattered. I wanted to prove to myself I was brave enough to try, and I wanted to cross the finish line.

I ran the idea by a couple people, mostly family members, whose reactions was, "Oh, yeah?" complete with puzzled expressions on their faces. Running is not something I've shared with my family; it's more "me" time. Don't get me wrong; they were supportive of my decision to run in the race, if not necessarily encouraging. But again that did not matter. With or without my family beside me, I wanted to run.

As it turns out, I ran without supporters on the sidelines, save for a friend who was there to watch his son finish third overall. The comforts of home kept everyone else inside Saturday morning, hiding from fall's first chill beneath warm quilts. (That's my not-so-fancy way of saying "they stayed in the bed.") The crisp air, I told myself, could only make the run easier.

My husband, a veteran of two 10Ks, did manage to give me two pieces of advice before I left for Cullowhee: Warm up and run at your own pace, he said. The first I remembered; the second was forgotten as soon as I and the other runners took off. There's something about running with a pack that briefly convinces you that you are as strong as all the rest, until, of course, your lungs and legs let you know otherwise with quick bursts of pain.

Slowing down slightly, I found my stride somewhere in the first lap behind Reid Gym. I concentrated on the run, the blue sky, the gleaming green grass, the air currents catching the sleeves of my T-shirt and little else. I kept another runner in sight in front of me, and I never looked back.

I finished my first 5K, placing second in my age division, a 30-something-year-old with no one to impress but myself. Instead of a medal or ribbon, a banana and a cup of cold water awaited me at the finish line. And something else, even better - the satisfaction of achieving a goal.

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