Sometime after I had run the Detroit Free Press Half Marathon, I made reference to “real runners,” which did not include myself. One of the people with whom I was talking stopped, looked at me, and said, “You just ran a half marathon. What do you mean real runners?” I do not recall my response.
After all, that is not the moment when you go into your whole long history of wanting to run, starting to run, and then failing to make it happen. That is not the moment to say, “Yeah, I’ve kind of sucked at that whole one foot in front of the other thing.
Adding “runner” to my identity didn’t happen after three road races nor with a subscription to Runner’s World. It didn’t click after I took a run in the snow (and if you know me, you know how I feel about cold, and about moisture), and felt like “Oh wow, is beautiful out here. I feel like I’m in a glittery winter wonderland snow globe”. It didn’t click after I spent a significant chunk of change on pants designed for running in cold temperatures. Owning a reflective vest, a head light, a blinking light and these over-the-shoe contraptions didn’t do it either. Even registering for a marathon didn’t really make me feel like I could call myself a runner.
Humiliation, however did. In my running fantasies, I would gain all of this endurance, and become thin. I dreamed of thighs that don’t even think about touching each other during a run. I gained endurance. I am thinner, but apparently, my thighs are affectionate and like to show their affections to each other. The thigh thing doesn’t matter if you have on pants, but if you are wearing shorts it could come into play, especially if you are running long distances. For me, it becomes a chafing issue somewhere around mile 5.
Over a year into my running endeavor, I give in and accept the thigh thing will likely always be an issue for me and take comfort in the fact that there are products specifically designed to help with these issues. Like Bodyglide. I poked around on the Internet and saw that a drugstore sold the product online. So, reeling from the pain I inflicted upon myself by running past the no chafe zone, I went to a branch of that drugstore to look for the product.
Now, drugstores intimidate me because of the sheer variety of a number of products, many of which I don’t like to think about much less ponder their subtle differences. So, Alex and I are walking through aisle after aisle until I decide that I am going to ask someone. So, I approach the pharmacist and ask him if they carry Bodyglide. His eyes bulged a bit as he struggled to maintain his professional demeanor though he had already indulged a quick glance toward the young child in my care. Noticing his apparent surprise, I hastily added, “it’s for sports.” His eyebrows returned to their default position and he told me which aisle it would be in if they had it at all.
That is the day that I really came to see myself as a runner. I will only surrender my pride and allow people to think that I am looking for personal lubricants during the dinner hour with my son in tow for an activity that I have come to love.
