13 Miles

Day 2.

Holy buckets of nuts.

Today’s goal was to actually get some jogging in. After yesterday’s embarassment, I wanted to do something to get the heart going and break a sweat.

I left the house at a walk. Let’s back up a second.

Yesterday I decided to do the fast walk thing – you know, the one that looks like I have a large veggie stuck where the sun don’t shine and I’m trying to hold in pee as I walk like a crazy man – on my way to Suck’s Lake. While I did get the heart rate up (after about a block, actually), I didn’t break a sweat. And when I couldn’t make it around the lake at a light job, I watched as my pride was swallowed by a passing newborn duck and dunked into the lake.

Making matters worse, my legs were killing me yesterday afternoon. That’s not fair.

Back to this morning.

I left the house at a walk. And after a few driveways remembered the pain in the legs and decided I needed to jog. So I jogged two whole, entire, long, gruelling, death-defying blocks. It felt good. It felt like I’d done something great. It felt like two miles. I felt like going back home.

But I continued on. I walked the final block to the trail, then as a lady and her dog passed me, I decided it was time to jog again. So I jogged another two blocks or so until I got to Harrison. I live about six block from the park, but after all that jogging, by mathematical brain is a little fried, so if it doesn’t add up, forgive me – I’m dying here!

I safely walked across the street. I continued the ‘fast walk’ and made it to the lake. The same baby duck that swallowed my pride yesterday waddled past me today. Must be Mario Andretti of ducks or something. But he kicked me into gear. I was going to jog around the lake.

I started at the fork in the trail where the trail memorial is next to the rock and the flowers. I’ll call this the finishing rock. As I started, I gave the memorial it’s new name and I jogged passed the playground. I figured my days watching Dora the Explorer with Calvin, my 5-year-old son (the younger of two), would come in handy. I decided to make a map in my head and help myself around the lake.

Where are we going? Around the lake.
Where are we going? Around the lake.
Do you know how to get around the lake?
Ask the map! Say ‘Map.’
MAP!
I’m the map, I’m the map, I’m the map, I’m the MAP.
To get around the lake, start at the Finishing rock.
Then go past ‘Playground palace.’
Then pass ‘fisherman’s pier.’
Then go across the ‘rocky road.’
If you’ve made it that far, you’re about halfway there.
(This would have helped yesterday, because that’s where the duckling laughed at me as I stopped jogging.)
Next take the long straightaway along ‘goosepoop path.’
Then hook around the ‘watery turn’.
Finally rise the ‘holy buckets mountain’ back to the ‘finishing rock.’
That’s how to make it around the lake.

As you can see, that’s what I was thinking about as I made it around the lake. And I jogged the entire thing.

When I was a boy, a young one, I remember a place we called ‘the Hill.’ It was at the end of our block where Trotter Road ended and ran into the next road perpendicular to it. ‘The Hill’ was the steepest thing in the world. A mountain to send shivers down the spine of Sir Edmond Hillary. And only the bravest of kids would ride down the hill on their BMX. The hill, in all its four feet of glory, was what made you one of the gang. What made you crazy was going down the other side, a wider but rougher, tree-root filled, bumpfest that led straight into traffic on one of Indianapolis’s lesser know main arteries (at least in my neighborhood.) Both hills were, when I was seven, the most dangerous and gratifying things I accomplished to that point.

This story is one of many that crossed my mind as my life passed before my eyes while running up ‘holy buckets mountain’ this morning. Sure, it doesn’t seem like a steep incline, but after the enitre way around to that point at rather deadly pace of … light jog, I was pretty sure it would be my last image on this earth.

But I dug deep down inside myself and made it to finishing rock.

And stopped jogging. Above and beyond? We’ll work to that later.

I did fast walk home, with a little suicide jog of about two blocks mixed in. I made it home.

All that in 20 minutes.

I’ll try for 30 tomorrow. If you see me lying next to a dead baby duck Sunday morning, pick me up and tell me how to get to ‘Finishing Rock.’

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I’ve decided to start small.

I told my wife, Melissa, it will be her responsibility to not let me sleep through my workouts. She told me she better not have to argue with me.

So I thought to start things off I should practice getting up.

This morning I didn’t press snooze.

SUCCESS #1!

But once I was awake, I was bored. I expected it to be a little harder.

So I decided to go for a walk. I hit the trail and walked – fast, for a fatty – to Suck’s Lake. When I got there, man, I was feeling good. So I decided I was gonna jog.

I didn’t want to over do it. As my previous post said, I haven’t run for a decade. And I find myself winded when I have to get up to find the remote. A light jog was probably best, and just once around the lake.

I made it about half way. Or maybe a third.

Then I decided throwing up would be better served for an actual run, so I stopped jogging and got back to walking.

But I was proud of myself for walking. It was a beautiful morning. We were missed by the tornado last night, so it was quiet and peaceful.

I plan to walk farther tomorrow.

Right now, though, my lower legs hurt like they haven’t hurt in, well, in 10 years.

See ya tomorrow.

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1998.

Bill Clinton was getting impeached. Denver beat Green Bay for the Super Bowl. Michael Jordan was playing for the Bulls. ‘Titanic’ was at the box office (the boat sinks). Frank Sinatra died.

I was in college. And from what I can recall, it was the last time I ran.

Now, don’t get confused. In the last 10 years, I’ve run to the store. I’ve run to the game. I’ve run to the bathroom. I’ve even run to the hospital.

But I’ve never actually ran, to my recollection.

Until now.

My name is Jack Sheard. I’m an editor at The Independent. And as I’ve said, I’m not much of a runner. Or exerciser.

I’m not sure if it’s because of my beautiful wife’s not-so-subtle hints that I’ve put on a few extra pounds, or the fact my pants continue to get tighter, or even if it’s because as of June 1, I’m no longer in my 20s. Whatever the reason, I’ve decided to run again.

The Independent will have a story Monday, June 2, on how to train for a half-marathon. Each Monday following, we will print a workout schedule for the week, including how much you should run each day. It will lead up to the Bill Seymour Half-Marathon at the end of August. And I’m going to run it.

I think.

And I’m going to bring you along with me. I encourage you to try it, too. I don’t want to be alone, you know. Each day I will write in this blog about my training. I figure if I tell the world (and I know you’ll all be reading) then I’m pretty much required to go through with it.

So, enjoy “13 Miles.” And hopefully you’ll see me on the trails. If you do, please don’t laugh if I’m crying in pain.

It may be another 10 years before I run again.

Please, as we do this together, leave comments about your training. Share your experiences. Let’s do this.

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