Here’s something you may not know about me.
I’m a runner.
As in, I run races. Long distance races.
And I even win… my age division… which is 35-39 (passes out).
I can’t believe I’m this old and still running. A friend even made a joke last week that next year I’ll be even that much better–in the 40 and over division–because that’s when people start dropping like flies–because they’re too old to run. Needless to say, we’re no longer friends. He was an asshat anyway.
And do you know what you’re called when you’re a runner over 40? A master. Because clearly when you’re over 40 you’ve MASTERed the art of AGING. Apparently. And the fact that you’re still walking without the use of a cane, much less running, gives you a fancy title that basically screams Can You Believe That Idiot Is Still Signing Up For Half Marathons?–Why She’s Completely Lost Her Mind. Which, OK, maybe.
This bothers me. The notion that because I will turn 4-oh in exactly 6 months and 2 days, that that somehow catapults me into the next level of racing, also known as, the “older group.” No snickering please. Forty is not old. I refuse to believe it is. Especially since I’m about to be IT.
I remember in 7th grade when track season came around. I was absent the first day because I was at the orthodontist getting my braces off. When I showed up the next day, the coach came to me and said, “All right, no one signed up to run the mile or the 2 mile, so I guess that means you’re it.”
Wha wha what?
The 2 mile?
I can’t run the 2 mile. Are you crazy? The only way I’d be able to run 2 miles is if someone was chasing me with a butcher knife. And even then it’s sketchy.
“All right, Coach,” is what I said instead.
So I practiced running. And I ran. And ran. And it wasn’t long before I discovered running long distances came super easy to me. I even turned out to be what the coach called a triple threat. I could run distance and sprints. Which technically only makes me a double threat, but I wasn’t about to correct my coach.
Running was the thing I was good at. And I enjoyed doing it. I ran Cross Country and Track in high school, becoming the first Freshman girl to make the Varsity team.
I was the shit. In my own head.
I mean, it’s not like I was going to get a scholarship to college or anything, but I could totally hold my own. Plus, I quit both teams after my Freshman year. Yeah, I know. That was dumb. Maybe I could’ve gotten a scholarship to college if I’d kept it up. Who knows?
After I graduated, I kept running. And I’ve been running ever since. It’s really the only time during the day I truly have to myself. And winning isn’t so bad either. I’ve won some regional races–a 9 mile, a 10 mile, a 5K, a half marathon–in my age division–the nearly 40 (passes out again)–and I quite enjoy the feeling of beating other women–especially women much younger than me.
I’m training now for the Nike Women’s Marathon in San Francisco. I’m going to run the half. And I’m running the half instead of the full marathon for 2 reasons: A) running 26.2 miles does not sound like fun AT ALL, and B) refer to reason A.
So the half it is. I’m on a team with a bunch of other girls–all younger than me (rolls eyes in disgust). BUT, I can totally hang with the younger crowd. I’ve been known to drink directly out of a keg a time or two in my life. I can party bong with the best of them. Side note: I assume everyone younger than me still goes to keg parties on school nights and doesn’t find themselves slipping into their jammies at 7:30. I’ve MASTERed that also.
Anyway, last weekend I ran in a half marathon in Dallas–it was going to be my “practice” run before the main event in October. Everything was going smoothly. I had my Ipod cranked up loud, the Black-Eyed Peas were jamming I Gotta Feelin. It was all good.
Then came Mile 3.
My knee started bothering me. It came on like a nuisance at first. I pushed the pain out of my mind, turned up the volume a few more notches, and steadied my pace.
I noticed my knee REALLY starting to throb around Mile 6. I was no longer able to ignore it. It was now screaming at me.
I stopped and walked for a second (which if you know me at all, I don’t normally do. It was KILLING me to walk, but running was getting to be near impossible).
Now, here’s the difference between me and a normal person. A normal person would say, “You know what? This race isn’t worth risking a serious injury.” And walk off the course, get in her car and drive home. But not me.
I started running again. But now the pain was so great that it had moved up into my hip. So now I was hobbling along like a… well, like an idiot who should stop running and go home.
At Mile 11, I almost quit. But the competitive freak in me wouldn’t let me stop just 2 miles shy of the finish line.
So I powered through the pain.
And crossed the finish line at exactly 2 hours and 2 minutes and 2 seconds.
I was barely able to make it to my car. I was crying, I was hurting like I’ve never hurt before, and I feared I’d done major damage to my knee.
Because I’m the Biggest Fucking Idiot you’ve ever known.
The whole drive home I berated myself for being so stupid. This race wasn’t a big deal. It was supposed to be for practice.
IDIOT.
By the time I got home, I couldn’t walk at all. Tommy had to carry me to the bed where I spent the rest of Sunday, icing my knee and swallowing pain pills like they were Tic Tacs.
The next day, I went to the doctor. Lucky for me there was no major damage. Just Tendinitis. Phew. I considered this a huge win in the Luck Column.
I would be able to run again. But when?
It’s been a week since I ran the race. My knee is better, there’s no more pain. But I’m afraid to run. I’m afraid it will start hurting again.
I know I’ve got to get back on that horse and ride.
And I will.
God knows I have to. And Soon! You should see how big my ass has gotten in a week.
I wish I was joking.
{ 16 comments… read them below or add one }
Run, Shauna, RUN!!!
I don't know how you run 13 miles anyway. You're like a maniac. Or a super hero. Or a maniacal super hero.
Glad you're better.
Awesome story. No, I did not know you were a runner. Pretty cool. Let's see. You're sexy, funny, smart, AND athletic? I hate you.
Jennifer is right. It's just another reason to hate you. (runs to the freezer for a pint of Ben and Jerrys)
13 miles? I can't run past 35 minutes. I'm serious. At 35 minutes and one second my legs just stop. No matter where I am, how far I am from home, I can't make my legs run for longer than 35 minutes.
Even if you never ran again, you have total bragging rights for the rest of your life, so look at it that way.
That being said, good luck!!! And if your knee hurts in the race with 40-somethings, just pretend you're not going to run anymore to make those Old Folks feel better.
I was feeling all sorry for ya, till I saw "no major injury" and then the line about the size of your ass had me cracking up!
With that kind of attitude, it's no wonder you're a winner!!
Run, Shauna, run! I'll keep my 3 miles and hitting the heavy bag, though not training to be in any fight.
Shauna Glenn, Certified Bad-Ass!
Go kick those little girls' asses, Shauna!
I'll be 40 in December. I will not stop running this December or next; furthermore, I set the summer goal of having six-pack abs, and I intend to hit that goal by Labor Day.
Old chicks aren't old. We're just smart.
I know this is a blog and all, but you need to go get some Active Release Techniques (ART) – tendonitis happens for a reason, and ART can correct it. Really!
And back to your blog – you are funny, a writer, and a runner – you rock!
Wudya stop passing out everytime you say you're almost 40! Put your big girl pants on and just friggin' admit that you are nearly there. It's not so bad. In fact, turning 30 was more bothersome than turning 40 for me. And 40 is the new 20.
Or you can become like my aunt who just celebrated her 29th birthday…for the 19th time yesterday! (Ask Monika. Our grandmother died at the age of 39. She was 39 our entire lives.)
And the running thing? I don't get it anymore. I ran in high school and while I was in college…but now? I just run my mouth and from the bed to the toilet in the morning. No other reason…unless someone's chasing me with a gun.
I run long distances, too. But only when the driver of the ice cream truck is an asshat and doesn't see me chasing after him.
Very interesting. I'm 41 and sprinted on my walk last night for the first time in ages. I am NOT a runner at all, but felt GREAT after the three separate bursts I did.
Get back out there, runner-girl. BUT….if it HURTS stop. Burn is good. Pain is bad. You are very lucky you didn't do permanent damage. No race is worth that. Two years of physical therapy later, I'm finally able to run again and am (slowly) working off the 20 (yes, 20!) pounds I put on while not running. Trust me when I say that if your knee hurts, you are WAY better off stopping and taking it slow and easy than pushing through the pain. Burn: good. Pain: bad.
Shauna you rock. I quit competing in kickboxing matches when an 18 yr old kid beat the crap out of me (when I was 34 I think?). I posted the video in all its bloody glory on my blog last year. Anyway, I realized I was too old to be doing this stuff. So I just transitioned to coaching, and then I just got too busy. However, the fight bug is still itching me and I have recently considered getting back in it. Brazilian Jiu Jitsu to be exact. Reason? Because they have a Masters division too (unlike kickboxing, where they throw old dudes like me into the cage with 20 yr old lions). I can kick someone my own age's butt most of the time, and I need that in my life, you know? If I do jump back into the ring, you can take partial credit for inspiring me.