I have this awesome pink Idiots Running Club tech shirt that says "#EyeOnThePrize" across the back. This year, the prize I have my eye on is a sub-5 time at the Bass Pro marathon, which would be a 45-minute improvement over my 2013 race. That's a big jump for anyone, but especially for a chubby grandma like me. I'll tell you a secret - sometimes I think there's no way in the world I'll be able to do it.
I had one of those little moments Saturday. Several members of the Idiots Running Club met at 7 a.m. for a group run in Gainesville. When David Murphy announced it on Facebook earlier in the week, my husband Tim and I immediately started looking forward to it. Those are always fun, and it had been a long time since we had all gotten together.
I really wanted to stay with the main group this time. Usually I'm at the back of the pack, but this time, I had a pretty short run on my schedule. Everyone else had very long runs, so my hope was that our pace would match up enough that I could hang with the big dogs until I hit my 30-minute turn-around point. So there I was, running along with Jon Wilson, David Murphy, Billy Pippin and Melissa Hayes. I felt like I would imagine a beginning guitar player who knew three chords might feel if he was jamming with Van Halen. It was cool.
I could even join in the conversation without being too out of breath – until about the 25-minute mark when evidently my heart rate decided to skip right from zone 2 to zone 4. Breathing got a little harder, and I started doing much more listening that talking. I glanced at my watch, looked at my pace and was instantly disheartened. It was only about 10 seconds faster than the pace that I was going to need to run the whole entire marathon! How am I ever going to be able to run like this for 26.2 miles? What in the world was I thinking?
I told my daughter Jenny about it on Monday. "Mom, you don't need to worry about that," she said. "All you need to do is execute the plan. Do your workouts each day. Eat right each day. The results will take care of themselves."
Goodnight - how did she get so wise? And it occurred to me that she learned that here, right here in this club. I'm often amazed by how much my family has learned and benefited from being part of the Idiots Running Club. We have more than 2,700 other runners who support us, offer advice, write blogs, coach, and encourage us each day. It continually awes me, and I'm extremely grateful.
So, I'm taking Jenny's advice (which I think she may have learned from Ann Brennan's blog "How To Eat an Elephant.") I'm just going to focus on the little things: each little workout and each little decision about what to eat. I still have my eye on the prize, but I'm focusing on the road that leads to the prize.
You can read Annie's blog here:
I love the calendar turning over to a bright, shiny new year. The brand new start offers endless possibilities for new running adventures and accomplishments. For me, it's a time to reflect on what I've done, take stock of where I am, and make new goals. I'm not big on New Year's resolutions, but I do like a good goal-setting session, and a new year is a perfect time for that.
I've been running for almost two years. My initial goal was to run the 2012 St. Jude Country Music marathon in Nashville with my daughter Jenny Yarger. Jenny was fundraising for her little cousin Cara Hawxby, who was undergoing treatment for leukemia at St. Jude. I was turning 50 years old, I was overweight and to say I was out of shape is an understatement, but I gradually went from walking to running, and I was making some progress. However, injuries plagued me that first year, and I missed so much training that I knew I wouldn't be able to complete the full marathon, so I dropped down to the half. Jenny completed the full marathon with her dad. I finished the half in 3:03 behind an 80-year-old woman that I just could not pass to save my life. When I crossed the finish line, there wasn't a place on my entire body that didn't hurt, but I was beyond happy.
During that year, David Murphy and Jon Wilson started the Idiots Running Club on Facebook, and I found a whole new level of support and friends. I'm not sure I would've continued running if it weren't for the IRC. Running is hard, and I've never been one to to stick with the hard, uncomfortable stuff for long. Since those first days, I've learned that the most memorable moments in life are those that happen after conquering the hard, uncomfortable stuff.
I was injured so often that first year of running that I felt like I must be doing something wrong. I heard about Coach Jeff Kline of PrsFit through the IRC. I knew I needed some advice, but I thought he only trained "real runners" and big-time triathletes. I didn't think he'd want to train a chubby grandma. I asked David Murphy about the possibility of getting some help from Jeff. David was quick to tell me that I was a "real runner" and that Jeff trained all types of runners. (Just a little side note to everyone - not a good idea to use the term "real runner" around David. If you run at all - you're a runner.)
Using Coach Jeff's training plans, I spent 2013 building my strength, adding endurance and learning all I could. I ran lots of races, set some new personal records, and I completed my very first marathon. It took me 5:45:47 to finish. Yep, it's slow, but it's still 26 point freaking 2 miles! My two daughters and my husband Tim, along with David and a bunch of wonderful Idiots, waited for me at the finish line. It was a memorable and wonderful moment - the reward for making it through the hard, uncomfortable stuff.
Yesterday, David Pittman, fellow Idiot and PrsFit team mate posted this: "What's your big athletic goal for 2014? If you don't have at least one that's so big it scares the bejeezus out of you, think of one! You're capable of far more than you think. STRETCH! PUSH!"
Hmmm. Since then, I've been thinking and thinking. I need my 2014 big athletic goal to be realistic, but just barely. What scares me? Running my idea of fast for a long distance scares me. It hurts. It's hard and it's uncomfortable. Could I break 5 hours at Bass Pro in November? I do have 11 months. I could lose a few pounds - that would surely help, right? Is this realistic for me? 45 minutes faster? Whew, that's a really big jump.
I asked my husband first, "Do you think there's any possibility I could run Bass Pro in 5 hours?" He said, "Well, that's a huge percentage of improvement, but I believe it's possible."
I asked Coach Jeff, who quickly said, "Sure, let's do it!"
I asked my fast-running friend Jamie Rigdon, who is now a PrsFit coach herself. "How much walking did you do on your first marathon?" she asked.
"Quite a lot at the end - especially the last five miles," I said.
"Then, given the time frame, I believe you can do it, because by then, I bet you're not walking much at all," she said.
Still not completely convinced, I asked my friend and PrsFit Coach David Murphy, who never sugarcoats anything. He knows where I came from, and he's watched my progress from the beginning. After a long pause, he said, "It's doable. BUT it will not be an easy year. You'll have big miles building up to the training period. Big SLOW miles, but still big miles."
I can do big, slow miles.
It will be hard and uncomfortable at times, but that's the whole point, isn't it?
By Norene Prososki
I focused on my daughter Jenny's bright orange trail shoes as we ran down the far side of the
insanely steep hill we'd just climbed. The pace was fast for me, but I was keeping up, and that felt
good. Golden sunlight streaming through the trees formed a green and amber canopy over the rocky
trail. The air was cool and crisp against my skin, and the finish line was less than a mile away.
I've never felt so alive as I did at that moment Sunday, flying down that hill, following those orange
shoes, headed toward the finish line.
This was the second year my husband Tim, our daughter Jenny and I ran the 15K course at the Bass
Pro Outdoor Festival's Dogwood Canyon Trail Runs. Last year, with my heart pounding and lungs
heaving, I struggled up and down those steep and rocky hills, stopping several times along the way for
much-needed rest breaks. This year, my feet were light, and my legs were strong. We didn't stop once.
And it's all because of a pink tutu, a magnificent mustache and a highway patrolman.
David Murphy, wearing his famous pink tutu to raise money for the American Cancer Society, was running more than three times the distance my little family was attempting. Adorned with ribbons bearing the names of 80 people who have battled cancer, the tutu and its owner would be out on the rugged trails a little more than five hours, covering more than 31 miles – 50 kilometers. The distance is nothing new to the 41-year-old Wasola ultra-marathoner, who’s now training for his fifth Rocky Raccoon 100-mile run in Texas this February.
David and his friend, Gainesville High School teacher Jon Wilson, who has the most magnificent mustache I've ever seen, started the Idiots Running Club a little more than a year ago. Astonishingly, the club, an online social media group of runners, has grown to almost 2,000 members and will be featured in the December issue of Runner's World magazine. The IRC is one of the biggest reasons I was outside Sunday, running on those hilly trails in Lampe, instead of lying in my soft bed that morning.
Through the IRC, I met Coach Jeff
Kline of PrsFit, who designed a training program specifically for me – a
struggling, constantly injured, often-whiney, wanna-be runner. His
encouragement and knowledge have proved invaluable over the past
year. Running is very hard. It's hard for everyone - even the gifted runners
like David. I've started fitness programs many, many times before and
always quit when things got uncomfortable. I probably would've quit
running too if it hadn’t been for the support and help I got from the Idiots
Running Club and PrsFit. Without those brilliant and dedicated “Idiots”
and Coach Jeff, I'm not sure I would have made it through the pain
required to reap the benefits of running.
As I was skimming down that hill, my muscles feeling strong and light,
focusing on those orange shoes flying in front of me, I couldn’t help but gush, "This is it, Jenny. This is
why we got up all those mornings to run. This is what all the training is for!"
That wonderful feeling of accomplishment made the run worth every drop of sweat, every aching
muscle, every heaving breath.
As we were running our 15K, the shortest distance offered at Dogwood Canyon, I thought about several other Ozark County IRC runners who were out on the same trails that morning. The fastest was Charley Hogue, a Missouri State Highway Patrol sergeant. A four-time winner of the White River Marathon in Cotter, Ark., Hogue is the first "real" runner I ever talked to about running. I was about 60 pounds overweight at the time, I’d just quit smoking and I got out of breath simply walking across my yard. It was the Fourth of July, and we were at a barbecue at my sister's house. Charley was hungry that evening because he had run some huge distance that morning. I was amazed at how far he had run and said, "Wow, I wish I could run, but I've never been able to, even when I was young. I just can't do it."
He said, "You can do it, Norene. All it takes is time and effort, but
you can do it if you want to."
I didn't believe him at the time, but I never forgot what he said.
Out on the Dogwood Canyon Trails Sunday morning, Charley
yelled "Go, IRC!" as he flew past Jenny and me like we were standing
still. He went on to take first in his age group, placing third overall out
of 325 runners in the 25K distance. His mother, Evelina Hogue, took
second in the age 55-59 female division of the 15K. On Nov. 3, they'll
both be at Bass Pro in Springfield, where Charley will run the full
marathon and Evelina will take on the half.
I knew my
long before Jenny and I did, and I couldn't
wait to hear how he did. Sure enough, he was
waiting for us as we crossed the finish line.
He had already changed out of his sweaty
clothes, so I knew he’d had a good run. He
finished 40 minutes faster than he did last
year! I wound up finishing 21 minutes faster,
and Jenny was also faster than last year. We
all shared a big group hug to celebrate.
Melissa Hayes of Gainesville won third
place in the age 30-34 female division of the
15K. She often runs with her friend Mindy
Pippin, who was taking on her longest race
ever, the 25K. Mindy's husband, Billy, was
also running the 25K for the first time and
came in a few minutes behind his wife. "I'm already thinking about next year," Billy said later.
April Wilson, Jon's wife, also ran the 25K for the first time. "Whew! That was tough," she said.
No kidding, I thought. I was having a hard time imagining going that far over all those hills. But
now that it's over, I'm thinking ... maybe next year …
But for now, I'm concentrating on Nov. 3, when I’ll run my very first full marathon. Who would've
thought that a pink tutu, a magnificent mustache and a highway patrolman could make such a
difference in a chubby, middle-aged grandma's life?
A little boost
As long I can remember there have been two things that I wished I could do – sing and run. Unfortunately, I was a chubby little girl who couldn't carry a tune despite all my dad's encouragement. The very first song I remember learning was Rocky Top, an old bluegrass song. I was probably 6 or 7 years old, sitting in the backseat of a red Pontiac GTO with the windows rolled down, and Daddy was teaching my little sister Tammie and me how to sing it. It wasn't long before we were belting it out at the top of our voices.
Wish that I was on old rocky top,
down in the Tennesse hills
Ain't no smoggy smoke on rocky top,
ain't no telephone bills.
"Oh, that sounded pretty, girls," Daddy would say. "Let's try it one more time."
It's funny how certain memories are burned into your mind forever and that's one I'll never forget. I even remember Mom saying, "OK, Delmar, that's enough" when her nerves had taken all she could stand.
In spite of all Daddy's compliments on my singing, I found out that God had not blessed me vocally when the entire classroom fell silent following my attempt to sing "America the Beautiful" during sixth grade choir tryouts. After a long awkward pause, the teacher said, "Give it a try next year, dear." That ended my career as a singer.
As for running, I was always the very slowest in the class, but that didn't stop me from wishing I was a "runner." Even as a little girl, I would see people running along city sidewalks on summer afternoons, and I'd imagine it was me running along as if I could continue for miles and miles.
The desire to run never really left my mind, but I never made time for physical activity until I was 49. The idea of turning 50 scared me a little, plus my weight had ballooned to never-before-seen numbers on the scale. So, I started walking and eventually added running a little at a time. I even started running in local races and joined the Idiots Running Club, a group of kind and supportive runners of all levels and abilities.
This past weekend, my husband Tim and I traveled to New Orleans to celebrate our 32nd wedding anniversary by running the Rock N Roll half marathon. During the race, I tried to focus only on positive thoughts. I constantly repeated mantras from some of my favorite runners: David Murphy's "eye on the prize," Jamie Rigdon's "focused, fierce and fearless to the finish" Gene and Penny Britt and Kelli Humphries' "brave the run." I went over all the good advice and encouragement from my friend and running coach Jeff Kline at PrsFit. All of this, plus the music from the bands along the course and the support from spectators kept my mind occupied.
But around mile 12, fatigue had set in. My legs felt like concrete, sweat was dripping off my ponytail, I had a blister forming on my right foot, and my hip was throbbing. The positive thoughts faded along with my pace. Soon I was trudging along, walking and wondering why on earth I was doing this.
What was I thinking?
I have no business out here.
I don't wannt to do this anymore.
I think I'm just going to walk the rest of the way – after all my hip hurts.
I heard the last band of the race playing just ahead and the final notes of Georgia Satellites' "Change in My Pockets" drifted away just as I got within sight of them. As I approached, the band kicked off a song I hadn't heard since Daddy died of Lou Gehrig's Disease in 2006. The lead singer stepped up to the mic, our eyes met and he started singing.
Wish that I was on old rocky top,
down in the Tennesse hills
Ain't no smoggy smoke on rocky top,
ain't no telephone bills.
God had given me a little boost. I didn't stop running until I crossed the finish line.
Will. Persistence. Guts. Discipline. Resolution. Stamina. Grit. Determination. Whatever you want to call it, I've been searching for it for most of my adult life.
I've always admired people like my husband Tim who plays musical instruments so well; or my friend Misty who earned her degree while working a full-time job and raising three boys; or a young woman named Tara who lost almost 100 pounds after she graduated from high school and is still fit and healthy after 10 years; or decathlon athlete Ashton Eaton who set a new American record at the Olympic trials.
I never thought much about the hours and hours of practice that Tim puts in to play music so well. I never thought about Misty staying up until 2 a.m. writing a paper because she had to wait until the boys went to bed to start on it. I didn't wonder about the constant calorie counting and the hours of exercise Tara put in to lose so much weight. And, I can't imagine the training that the Olympic hopefuls put their bodies through to get a chance at winning the gold.
What makes these people so successful? Why can ultra marathoners like David Murphy run 100 miles when it seems so out of the question for most people? It's true, some do have God-given talent, but more importantly, these successful people seem to have one trait in common - a strong will to keep working even when it's uncomfortable.
Throughout my adult life, I often thought and expressed aloud that I wished that I had a "strong will." I had always believed that the discipline trait just passed me by. "I can't stick to a healthy eating plan." "I really can't make myself get up early enough to run in the mornings." "I never stick to anything very long." "I don't have any willpower."
I said and thought those things so often, they came true.
However, in the past year, I've learned some stuff. I've seen some good examples of what it means to have guts, to persist in spite of pain and to step up. I began to believe that maybe I could get tougher, that maybe I could quit being a quitter. Lynn Jennings, a great female American long-distance runner, once said, "Mental will is a muscle that needs exercise, just like the muscles of the body." I now believe that's completely true. I think anyone can develop a "strong will" once they stop fearing being uncomfortable - even me.
For 12 hours on June 15 at the American Cancer Relay For Life, I learned a lesson in "will" over and over again as the people in our county watched David Murphy run 55 miles on an asphalt track in air so thick with humidity that people sweat through their Relay T-shirts while they were merely standing.
SInce I've known him, I always thought running was extra easy for David - that he didn't have to try very hard - that he was born with some bit of magic that made him have super-human endurance. I thought he was lucky to have such a gift. How nice it must be to just be able to run like that, I would wistfully think.
During Relay, I saw on his face that that it wasn't easy that sultry Friday night. Even as fit as David is, running in that humidity for so long was hard. Really hard. But he did it anyway. One foot in front of the other, for 55 miles. That's strong will – persistence and discipline that he developed through hard work. It's true, David does have a gift, but without his hard work, no one would ever know about it. All the people who started running after being inspired by him would still be on the couch; there would be no Idiots Running Club, no pink tutu and no WOOOOO.
So, thank you, David, for showing us what it means to be strong-willed and how being persistent can take us great distances.
Now, when my alarm clock goes off at 4 a.m., I exercise my will. I get up.
I get up, and I run.
You know you suck at running when the people you care about encourage you with phrases like these:
I'm not being sarcastic when I say that I love that one the most. Because, truthfully, there were a few times that I have felt like giving up. But I keep hanging in there despite the injuries, the slowness and the nasty little voice inside my head that repeatedly asks "What are you thinking? Running? Are you kidding me?"
I've been running the same 12-minute mile almost since I started. I still breath like freight train and I almost always feel the need for a little walk break every half mile or so. To be honest, it has crossed my mind that I really should be a walker, not a runner.
But I don't want to be a walker. I want to be runner. I'm not sure why it's so important to me. It's so important to me that more times than I can count, I've found myself in tears on my training runs. Joyful tears if the run is going well and bitter tears if I'm struggling. Why does it matter so much to me? I've never been athletic - never played organized sports. I'm not all that competitive. So why is running such a big deal to me? Honestly, I don't know for sure. It just is. Maybe I want to run because it's so hard for me. If I can run… well, then, I can do pretty much anything.
I began running when I was 49 years old, and to say I didn't know what I was doing would be a major understatement. And to say I wish I would have started running when I was younger would be an even bigger one.
In theory, running seems simple - lace up your shoes and hit the road. Run until you can't run any farther and do it again tomorrow. Then the day comes when the little twinge you've been feeling for a couple of days explodes into a full-blown injury and even walking is painful, regardless of the ibuprofen you shove down your throat. When that happens, you can't run for a long, long time. I've done this repeatedly in my short wanna-be running life.
So, through the Idiots Running Club, I found Coach Jeff at PRS Fit to walk me through this field of running ignorance. Someone to guide me, to help me get strong so I won't get injured so much. Someone who knows how to help me build an aerobic base so I won't sound like freight train wheezing down the track. I'm lifting weights, riding a bike, doing lunges and squats and using the elliptical. I can even do push-ups now. My muscles are sore, and I've never sweat so much.
I like having a plan, and I like having a coach to help me learn to run. Because, if I can run… well, then, I can do pretty much anything.
At 9 a.m. Saturday, April 21, I'll line up with several dozen runners and walkers at our local Relay For Life 5K. It's a yearly tradition each spring to raise money for the American Cancer Society. It costs $20 to enter. Competitors get a T-shirt, the good feeling that comes with outdoor exercise and the satisfaction of giving cancer a kick in the face.
I've walked in the race every spring for several years. Every time I do, I make myself remember the first time. I remember ordering a 2X T-shirt so it wouldn't be too tight around my hips and stomach. (It still was.) I weighed more than my 6'3" husband did - by quite a lot. I hadn't done any form of exercise in years. And my dad - my handsome, athletic, happy dad - was dying of ALS.
ALS, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (also known as Lou Gehrig's disease) is a progressive, fatal disease where the neurons that act as messengers from the brain to the muscles stop working; it’s much like snipping the wire between the switch on the wall and the lighting fixture on the ceiling. Daddy's once-muscular arms grew weak and thin, and his breathing became increasingly difficult. His voice that had sung so many songs and told countless stories became almost impossible for anyone other than Mom, my sister and me to understand. His legs became thin as his muscles atrophied until eventually he needed a motorized wheelchair. Through it all, he kept his sense of humor, his faith in God and his love for everybody.
Shortly before that very first 5K, I remember sitting in Mom and Daddy's living room, talking to them about everyday things. I had recently started another "get-thin-quick" diet and was complaining about how difficult it was, how fat I was, blah, blah, blah. Daddy looked sharply at me, tapped himself on the chest hard, then waved toward the road in front of their house. With the sound of his oxygen puffing softly in the background, he said, "If I could, I would go up and down the road. Just go up and down the road."
With his words ringing in my ears, that’s what I did. It’s how I started, walking up and down the road. I could only walk a little way at first, and it made my shins burn, my knees ache and my hip joints hurt. But never again did I take for granted the fact that I was able to walk. Never again.
When my breathing was labored and my lungs felt like they were on fire as I trudged up the steep hill in front of their house, I remembered the glint in my dad's blue eyes, the sound of the oxygen puffing in the background and his voice saying, "Just go up and down the road."
A few weeks later, with my 2X T-shirt stretched tight across my waddling hips, I slowly walked that whole 5K. I tripped over my own feet and fell on a bridge crossing a creek, bloodying my elbow. I had to stop twice going up a big hill on the course to catch my breath. I was among the last to cross the finish line. It took me more than an hour, and I was worn out the rest of the day.
This year, I ordered a medium T-shirt, and will finish the 5K in about half the time of my first one. I ran 12 miles Saturday and will run my first half-marathon in Nashville on April 28. My husband Tim is running his first full marathon with our youngest daughter Jenny. We've all been having a great time as a family "going up and down the road." We joined the Idiots Running Club, and through it, have made some wonderful friends and found support and inspiration to continue these positive changes in our lives.
In the IRC, we take an oath to laugh and have fun, and to not take ourselves or any race too seriously. But there is one thing that I hope every runner who has found joy in being outside and feeling the road beneath their feet will take seriously. Pass it on. Let other people know that they can have that joy, too.
Those little words from my dad. Charley Hogue giving me the courage to start running even though I didn't think I could. David Murphy helping me PR at a 5K. My husband telling me I will eventually run a full marathon, even though I often have doubts. Jenny telling me how much better my legs look since I started running. Countless IRC Facebook posts that seem to come just at the right time.
If it weren't for all of you, I'm not sure I wouldn't still be just wishing I was a runner.
Between you and me, I think most people secretly wish they were runners, but they just don't think they can do it. Sometimes, all they need is for someone to tell them they can.
Until this Thanksgiving, I had never had a sports injury - mostly because I never did anything where there was even a remote chance of getting one. I was a chubby, nerdy girl with my nose stuck in a book - not the kind of girl who ran or got sweaty.
At almost 50, after decades of wishing I was the kind of girl who ran and got sweaty, I finally figured out that I have two legs that work. My heart is beating and I can breathe. There's no reason that I can't run and get sweaty. So I went out and ran.
It was very hard getting started, but after about five months, right around Thanksgiving, it started getting easier. I was really enjoying my runs, kicking through the fallen leaves, breathing the crisp fall air. I was feeling confident. I was slooooow, but feeling like a "real" runner.
I spent a lot of time on the Daily Mile website, comparing myself to runners who were running 5K's in the teens. My 5K PR is a blazing 34:50. No, I'm not kidding. Yes, I did walk a little bit. Anyway, I kept wondering what it would feel like to run that fast. It must feel like flying, I would think.
My husband Tim, daughter Jenny and I woke up early Thanksgiving morning and ran our longest run so far - 7.5 miles. I was so proud - and tired. That same morning our long-time friend Charley Hogue posted a 18:21 5K time at the Springfield Turkey Trot. That's close to a 5:50 pace. Wow. After a bountiful Thanksgiving meal, my daughter Jessica and I were talking about how unbelievably fast that is.
"I wonder if I could run that fast for even a few seconds," I said. "I could try it on the treadmill, just to see."
"Your treadmill doesn't even go that fast, Mom," Jessica said. "Besides, I'm not sure that's such a great idea."
"You're right - the fastest it goes is a 6-minute mile. I wonder what that would feel like," I said.
So, I went downstairs, cranked that puppy up from my normal 12-minute mile to a 6. For the first five seconds, it was great. I did feel like I was flying. Then, I realized that I wasn't running fast enough to keep up - I was churning my chubby legs as fast as they would go, but I was getting farther and farther away from the controls that I becoming more and more desperate to reach. With the last bit of strength I had left, I got close enough to grab the kill switch. As I grabbed it, I felt a weird feeling, like a rubber band broke high up in the front of my thigh. It didn't hurt at the time, and I ran the next two days. But by Monday morning, I was hobbling around like someone with a compound fracture.
And, that's when the bad voices started. "What are you thinking? You're 50 years old! You have no business running. Who on earth do you think you are, flaunting yourself around in that IRC shirt like you know what you're doing. People are probably laughing at you."
I also had a stern lecture from a woman about how dumb it is to run, especially for older women. "It's hard on your joints; your knees and hips can't take that kind of pounding. See, you've already hurt yourself. You need to be on a consistent walking program. Don't you know that running is extremely hard on a woman's internal organs? Older women should never run. Never."
I will also let all of you in on a little secret - after David dropped off our IRC shirts and I pulled it on for the first time - I felt a little bit like an impostor. Don't IRC members run 100 miles in under 24 hours and sub-three marathons? They never walk in any races and they all have less than 6 percent body fat and are under 40 years old. "What are you thinking?" said the nasty little voice. "You're going to look like an idiot."
Since my mishap with the treadmill, I've had some time to think about all this. It has finally hit me. Yes. It's true. I'm an Idiot. Never been prouder of myself in my whole freaking life.
Adventures and Races Submitted by Idiots