Self-Loathing On the Jogging Trail

When I was a runner, in my 20s and 30s, I mocked the overweight dude out slogging along at a snail's pace. Dude'd be sweating through his gray t-shirt and the white sweat band he wore around his bid, old head. More often than not, he was carrying a cassette tape player or a walkman CD machine because, God knew, there was no way he'd make it a mile or two without music to drastic him from the discomfort.

At that point, I was running five miles in a hair over 30 minutes. Living in my hometown of Eureka, I'd go out of my way most days to find more, steeper hills to run. On days when nothing felt right, and there were many, running hard and fast and for five or six miles saved me. I felt alive. I felt good about myself, which was and is rare, every step of the way.

Now? I'm that overweight dude shuffling along with an iPod playing tunes to keep my mind off how it difficult every step has become. Worse...I'm an old, overweight dude. Way worse...I'm suffering shin splints -- or some other malady that stems from asking my legs to carry more weight, too far and too fast. And...shit...I'm barely even jogging two miles.

There's a truly serious runner working in my office. He's about my age, but he's never allowed himself to balloon to 30 pounds over his ... er, 40 pounds over his prime running weight. (Actually, I've gained 90 pounds since I first ran six hard miles a day at the height of my battle with panic attacks in my early 20s.) The guy runs half-marathons and he trains with a team that has a coach and, heck, I remember when my pals and I laughed because the only real athletes on our high school cross country team were David Wells, Mike Whitehead and Rick Hrdina. Beyond those three studs, it was a bunch of guys who could run and couldn't play ball.

"What's wrong with being that guy?"

Figures that the runner I work with would have sympathy for the devil I think is the overweight, old, lard ass I've become.

"You're out there...you're doing it..."

That's exactly what I used to hear people say about the fattest, slowest, dopiest looking runners in my running heyday. "Oh, be nice...at least he's out there running!" (I'd point out that it's not running if you're barely moving.)

What's wrong with being that guy?

I'm an athlete. I play ball. The guy who bats cleanup and leads the team in home runs doesn't wear a white headband. The guy who goes in the game to defend the leading scorer on the other basketball team wouldn't have a pot belly. I'm the guy who goes out to play flag football, once every couple years, and absolutely tears it up at quarterback...so, everything's wrong with me being that guy because...I'm not that guy...I'm those guys I just described.

Damn!

I jogged again tonight, doing just about everything the runner told me to avoid as I get back in shape. I didn't start with a speed walk. I jogged 1.5 miles and stopped only to walk one little upward slope just before my shin splits began to ache. Then, I shuffled all the way home...2.3 miles...listening to my iPod and wishing that "Lunatic Fringe" could inspire me to acknowledge who I've actually become and, thus, move me to be who I've always felt I was.

See, now...I'm a walking, talking A-1 heart attack waiting to happen. It's not a matter of if I'm going to have one -- everybody in my family had one or more. It's simply a matter of when I'm going to have a heart attack. I've known it for years and, thus, ran all those miles simply to add a few minutes or a few days or a few weeks to my life. I was running five, six miles and...I thought...running away from the heart problem I knew was right behind me.

My risk factors for a heart attack probably couldn't be higher. I'm genetically predisposed. And, thanks to getting away from fitness, my blood pressure has risen to Stage One hypertension. (No...it doesn't stop me from jogging when others would walk.) I'm overweight and my cholesterol levels are high. Actually, my overall cholesterol level is OK...my bad cholesterol level is high.

Dammit, I'm not that guy. I'm not that guy who goes for a walk and hopes that, maybe, in a couple months he can jog a little. I'm not that guy who's afraid to run because it elevates his heart rate. I'm smart enough to know that I'm not running so hard that I can't control my breathing. Remember the famous running doctor? Dr. Jim Fixx? He was an early proponent of distance running for health, then died at the start of a short run of a heart attack. It turned out he ignored pains in places that indicate a heart problem. To date, I've had no such pain ... and I'm not that guy who walks and checks his pulse all the while because he's fuckin' afraid of dropping on the jogging path.

I got in shape once, when I really was an athlete, outrunning depression and panic attacks. Maybe I can do it again, even though I'm not an athlete at all, because I'm not going to give up and just sit around eating cookies until the heart attack hits. Only a candy-ass in a gray sweatshirt, with a walkman, black tennis shoes and a really, really, really red face who takes walks for fitness would do that.

I'm not that guy.