A secret

I have a secret. It’s kind of embarrassing but I think it’s about time that I get it out.

I don’t know how to run.

I understand the logistics of propelling my body forward in motion and time. Pick up the speed, pump the arms, move from walking to running. Get someplace fast. I get it. I just don’t really get it.

I have run before – I played soccer as a kid, basketball at the Y, kickball in gym class. We used to run laps around the cafeteria/gymnasium once a week in elementary school, past Mr. Eckerd with those sexy gray polyester shorts, balding pate and his whistle.

Then, again, maybe I didn’t really run. I was terrible at soccer and could shoot but not really run down the court. One of my mom’s favorite stories is how she taught me to “say no” if somebody asked me to do something I didn’t want to do. A week or two later, she got a call from Washington Elementary. I said no to gym class.

I didn’t completely forego exercise. I walked everywhere and rode my pink bike with the banana seat until it was stolen. I grew up a swimmer, taking lessons throughout childhood, lifeguarding as a teen. Even today, I swim fairly regularly. I swim for exercise. I swim to relax. Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe. Quiet. Calm. Paced. It works for me, but I don’t always have the option.

Good lap pools are few and far between. Even at the pool, I struggle to find an uncrowded lane. I watch from the edge of the pool waiting for space, cold and vulnerable without my contacts, half-naked and damp. I swim during preset hours, outside of lessons, outside of swim team, while there’s a lifeguard on duty.

Over the years, I have tried to pick up running. Running for exercise. Running for fun. I have a treadmill in my apartment, my second or third in the past eight years. I have worn them out, called the companies, ordered replacement parts, broken bits and pieces and belts walking mile after mile after mile.

I just can’t seem to run.

A couple of years ago, my doctor diagnosed my asthma. The doctor before him had hinted at it, given my history of allergies and chronic bronchitis, but nobody told me I had asthma until I stopped breathing and started wheezing one uncomfortable Sunday afternoon. (That's what I get for dusting.)

26 years old and I found out that I’d had asthma most of my life. I didn’t like running because I stopped breathing and started wheezing whenever I ran. I figured that I just didn’t know how to breathe right, that I was doing something wrong; I didn't know that my body couldn't handle it. The doctor gave me an inhaler, told me I could run whenever I wanted and I realized that I didn’t want. I didn’t know how to run.

How do you breathe while running? What do you do with your arms? Is there good posture? Better form?

My knees are crap. So are my ankles. And I have arthritis in my hips. I don’t know if I’d run if I could, but I admire people who run for exercise, enjoyment, stress release. Anywhere in the world, at any point, a runner can just take off, pound the pavement, and get something for his efforts. I admire that.

I envy runners.

I am so embarrassed.


Tag: Running Exercise Asthma