It's Not Like There's a Joiners Fee

Being active is kinda a bitch.  I tried the gym.  Mostly that worked out as me paying 60 bucks a month to watch TV on my couch.  I tried to do things with other people, sporty spice things. But . . .

I’m not in love with team sports.  Because I’m an adult and that makes opportunities for organized team sports both minimal and awkward.  Because I’m not that good and hate to drag others down to my level.  Because I’m not a fan of the team mentality that leaks into competitiveness no matter how low key the game. 

So running is perfect for me. 

The only person I’m running against is myself.  If I choose to race, since I’m not at the front of the pack by any measure, I run to better my own time, to set a new personal best/record.  No one to drag down, no weird “be in it to win it” mentality.  It’s all on me.

But running is not me out there all on my own, either. 

There’s the Runner’s Nod.  The chin down mid-stride acknowledgement of another runner on your route.  No smile required unless a jog stroller is involved.  Even I understand the unwritten rule that you must always smile at babies.  And since I run where I live, I see the same group of people.  We've gotten to know when we run and where.  We wave to each other at races and say hi in restaurants. 

There are the Races.  Go to a few and you’ll start recognizing faces.  Look at the results and you’ll get names.  Stick around for the after parties and you start to make friends.  Be honest about the times you run, how often you train, and when you’re running again.  These people are on an endorphin high and they love what they do.  They want to talk about it. 

There’s the Running Store.  These are places to meet up, talk pace times, sign up for races, bitch about your stride, and exchange best routes.  They are also good places to find groups to run with.  These often have fun, helpful hint sort of names like “Joggers and Lager¹” or “Early Birdies²” or “Daddy and Me³.”  The people who work in these places, unlike in Sears, are almost always runners, and they really can help you.  Yes, some of them are subsidizing a running career with minimum wage employment, but most are just enthusiasts.  They want you to like running.  They will not taunt you.

In fact, that’s one of the things that never ceases to amaze me about running. It’s like a cult of crazies who want nothing more than for you to drink their KoolAid.

Try to get into volleyball; all the players want is someone who already knows how to play.  Take up tennis and welcome to the cold reality that a match against a craptastic newbie is irritating and long.  Really, really long.  My all time favorite is ultimate Frisbee.  Those kids are crazy, and not so open to teaching as they go.  It’s hard core go hard or go home out there.  But runners?  Not so much.  Since everyone already thinks they’re crazy, they’re intrigued by the idea that you might become one of them rather than assuming that you’re competition.  Now, there will always be assholes in any sport.  People who think that because you run a 30 min 5k you’re a looser.  Or don’t do full marathons.  But these people are A: asshats, B: few and far between, and C: going to have a come to jesus moment if they keep with the sport long enough.  No one runs a sub 2 hour marathon forever.  Besides, it’s pretty easy to steer clear of the folks trying to make it to Boston.

I was talked back into running by a marathoner.  Encouraged to keep at it by a 1^st place finisher at a 5k.  Had my stride improved by a guy from four states over as he blew by me at a ½ marathon.  These people had nothing to gain from encouraging me.

The reason I’m a runner?  They understood that they had nothing to loose either.

It’s why I think you should be a runner to.  Get out, see your city.  Get some exercise.  Sign up for a charity race.  Don’t worry about your time.  You’ll get there.

¹Guess which one I joined?

²Yes, runners are freaks and many of them think it’s totally good times to go 10 miles at 5am.

³How bad of me is it that one dad with stroller is cute, but a herd of them is freaky?  That bad, hunh?

Running into the Dark

Typically, I run sometime between 10pm and midnight. Like all runners, I am a crazy person. This is a fundamental truth. But even to other runners, running that late at night is odd. I do it because I'm a night person, the genuine real deal where my biorhythms will auto-reset to staying up all night and sleeping all day the instant I let them.

BUT-

But isn't running that late unsafe?

Well, sure, running in general isn't all that safe. Almost every serious runner, and more than a few joggers, I know has been tagged by a car at least once. Runners are small and cars are big. But I have never been hit. (knock-knock-knock)

But you're a girl!

Well spotted. But stranger danger, jump-out-from-the-bushes assault isn't all that common. If you're getting assaulted, statistically speaking, you're almost 80% likely to know the person. That doesn’t mean don't pay attention, it just means that what's asking the question isn't logic, but urban legend shaped fear.  That having been said, I don’t run in mini-shorts and a sports bra.  Some logic has been deployed, I swear.

The only ‘but’ I pay much care to is "But how do you stay safe?"

And it's easy. The first step is to know your route. Drive or walk it during the day. That way you know what the houses look like, where the street lights are, any places where the sidewalk inexplicably vanishes.

The second step is more fun: Get to know your neighbors. This means waving and smiling at anyone you see on your run of course, but also smiling at people when they walk by your porch and nodding at them when your cars pass each others. Weird, I know, but just tell yourself that people who can put a face on the screaming woman zooming by are more likely to open their doors or call the police.

Thirdly, don't make yourself an easy target for high school pranksters. I run the same streets almost every time, but I run them differently. Sometimes I go clockwise, or counter, or zigzag. I also vary the start time. Don't be the 10:32 runner. Mixing it up will also keep you entertained, so bonus.

+A note on encountering people instead of automobiles: Keep your head up, and concentrate on your stride. Run like you’ll never be tired and this is an easy pace for you, but DO NOT pick up your speed. Only prey scampers, so don't make yourself into that. Nod or say “hi,” but don't feel like you need to whip out your toothpaste ad smile. They can see you're busy and they know it's late, most won't think you need to stop and chat. Project confidence and never fear. 99.99% of the rest of the world simply doesn't give a shit about you one way or another. You're just a blip.  So don’t assume the worst.

But the single most important thing you can do to be safe on night runs is BE AWARE. This means turning the Ipod down a bit and keeping your eyes scanning. Stay alert to cars that are a block or two away, and look down every driveway to scout for brake lights. People leaving their homes will never see you. Even when they've waved to you from the door, they magically forget your existence as soon as they set foot in their SUV. Never ever assume that drivers see you, because they don’t.  Make yourself hard to hit by jumping up on curbs if you’re in the street or by waiting if you think there's even a small chance of the two of you sharing an intersection. Because, sure, their insurance will skyrocket, but you'll still be dead.

Night running has a lot of perks.  Stay alive to enjoy them and to mock all your scaredy cat friends.

Nite Lite/Lite Brite

As I’ve mentioned, I run at night, and in order to make this not suicide by car, reflective strips become a girl’s best friend*.  Because diamonds are great, but not only are they not moisture wicking, they sure won’t keep that drunken CFO in the Beemer from broadsiding you.

So why  don’t running apparel companies do this right?

I wear a lot of brands.  I wear the apparel they designate for runners.  I’m the girl these folks are looking for—I panicked when my cheap stuff failed me utterly and splurged and then went and told all of my friends to splurge.  Things that you ask to work this hard are worth it.  And yet I am not a satisfied customer.  In fact, I’m feeling a little bitchy. 

Because the safety features that are, you know, supposed to keep me safe, are ridunculous.  On average, my sports bra has more and better reflective piping than any other single piece of apparel.  And sure, there are ladies who look great in just a compression bra, but er, wait, isn’t this designed for low light sport? Should I be running around in just my bra at 10pm?  Does this seem safe/sane to Nike?  Really?  Well not so much to me.  So let’s look at shirts.  Whether singlets, tanks or tees—and heaven forbid it be cold weather gear because you’ll just be SOL there, tops straight up fail the safety test.  The reflectivity on my tops is all on the front.  Even then it’s mostly just a teeny logo.  First of all—the FRONT?  Now unless I’m so out of it I shouldn’t be on the road to start with, I think I should be able to spot and avoid collisions with things headed towards my face.  Why are they not on the back-where my eyes aren’t?  Is it really that hard to put two lines down the back of a moisture wicking run top? As far as I’ve seen, pretty much Mission Impossible.  (IDEA: twin lines curving in from my underarms to the small of my back. Safe and slimming= bonus points.)  And pants, why is all the reflectivity on the sides?  So that cars can notice me as they draw abreast?  Or way up at my hip?  Because, see above argument that I can see with my eyeballs in the front of me, not in back, with an additional complaint that most of my tops cover that space.  So even if I needed the help in front, it’s invisible as soon as I put on a shirt.  Sigh.  It seems simple and intuitive that the same seems that Athleta boasts ‘slim the hips and thighs’ could easily sport reflective stripes so that I don’t die while looking slim and lovely.  Because even in straight 12 noon sunshine, no one has ever died of extra reflectivity.  (I think.  I should google that statement, but I’m too lazy.)  But instead, if I’m lucky, my options are tiny, misplaced and frankly nonsensical.  Or I could do the dreaded neon vest.  Oh gods of road running, please don’t make me wear the Vest of Shame.  

If there isn’t ANY reflectivity, I don’t buy at all.  And a vast amount of running gear falls into this category.  Now I realize that a lot of (girls) are strictly gym runners.  And that’s great.  Go them.  But reflectivity won’t blind the old lady on the treadmill behind them and it could potentially save me. 

So I’m left wondering if the stuff that makes gear shiny is maybe gold or plutonium.  Expensive as hell or super hard to get.  Because otherwise, lots of folks run in low light.  Not just night runners, but twilight and dawn too, where in many cases the oddness of the light makes drivers’ differentiating runners from chipmunks even more difficult.  So, please, Reebok, Moving Comfort, Mizuno, MAKE  ME SOMETHING TO WEAR.  I’ll pay you, I swear. In money.

*Note: No amount of shiny shit will make the difference paying attention will.  I know this.  Adidas knows this.  It’s not the question.  The question is why aren’t these folks trying to give me all the help they can—at 60$ a pop?

Attack of the SUV Monster!

I run at night.  I know, I know, not the brightest, but it’s not without its perks, and the reality I’ve smacked into is that no matter how many times I say “I’ll just get up and go in the morning,” this never, EVER happens.  Not even once.  The benefits package of night running includes but is not limited to: watching the moon wax and wane, cooler temperatures *super important as most of this week was 100 degrees, and crazy people who like to, er, mess, with runners.


Last night I ran 3 miles. Shut up real runners, just keep it zipped. I was doing my 1st legitimate tempo run and, oh yeah, still in my first 30 days getting back in after a heaping serving of laziness and injury.


I was in the home stretch, speeding up for a nice chunk of faster.  There was a white SUV right beside and to my right.  Within easy touching distance.  As I moved past the driver’s side back fender, it powered up lights, big engine, big roar.


This is Me:

SCREAM: “Oh Jesus!”

HANDS: those would be jazz hands of terror you see waving by.

FEET: scurry like crack addicted mice. Skitter, skitter, wait how am I up on the opposite sidewalk?

HEAD: have the aliens come for me?
 
Somehow, I keep running (to be honest, slow jogging) despite the laughter howling like spider monkeys from my body.  Though I did have to keep it to a slow jog for a bit cuz my hands were all tingly from adrenaline and my breathing was that of a wounded hippo.


Seriously, I’m pretty sure that A: I squealed like a six year old girl; B: I could not process that it was just a car and not some scary monster trying to eat my soul, and C: the people in that car did it on purpose. 
 

I don’t hold a grudge, pretty sure I’d have laughed too-oh, wait I did.