I Still Hate Running

Just before the race with one of my co-workers and running buddy, Shelby.

My personal trainer has told me many times I will love running. My personal trainer also runs 50K races (yes, five-zero). My personal trainer is, clearly, crazy out of his mind.

Spoiler alert: I still hate running.

For me, a 5K seems like a million and two miles. But having completed a 4K — the one that seemed like a million miles — just a couple of months ago, I was convinced the Seattle AIDS Walk and 5K Run would be the time I knocked out my first 3.1-mile run without stopping. In the end, I was right. Barely.

In just about 27 minutes, I completed the loop through one of Seattle's busiest neighborhoods. Without stopping. Without dying, more importantly. I even sprinted across the line, passing another dozen or so runners in the home stretch. Who am I? My average mile time was 8 minutes, 44 seconds. Not bad for someone who couldn't climb a flight of 10 stairs without breaking a sweat and being entirely winded less than a year ago. (Status update: I now have lost 60 pounds since January 24.)

I'm not trying to pat myself on the back too hard, though, especially since a co-worker and Seattle AIDS Walk and 5K Run teammate of mine finished the race in about 20 minutes. She, in fact, won the women's division, beating every other female across the finish line. Plus, just before that home stretch of sprinting 100 yards or so was an unexpected uphill journey that almost ended this story in a much less celebratory way. That's where the "barely" part comes into play, as well as the "I still hate running" spoiler alert.

When you're not a runner and you're still trying to figure out how there are enough people for Nike to build an entire business empire on this ridiculous sport, you prefer flat surfaces. A slight downgrade would be even more appreciated.

I was running down the very flat street and calculating just how few blocks I had left to achieve this first-time goal when I rounded the corner to see I had miscalculated where I would see those beautiful, 3-foot black letters that spell out FINISH against a white background hanging above my sweaty head. I was quite disappointed to see the race path take another turn, right in the direction of a steep climb to the top of Volunteer Park. If you're not familiar with Seattle, Volunteer Park is like a little mini hill on top of one of the biggest hills within the city limits. It's beautiful, if you are taking a leisurely stroll through the winding paths to an incredible viewpoint at the top.

When you're running the first 5K race of your life, though, it feels more mountainesque than picturesque. Maybe I was hallucinating. Maybe I was just fresh out of breath and energy. Definitely I was dropping the "f" bomb with every step I took up that hill. Those "f" bombs are what got me through. They took my mind off of what crazy everyday runners see as no big deal, and they helped me get all the way to the top. I was met with that last stretch of flat surface and, as with my last race, seeing the real FINISH line sign unleashed a burst of hidden energy that allowed me to end it as quickly as possible.

Once I finished, I regrouped with the few teammates who already had crossed the line — including the co-worker who crossed it seven minutes earlier. I was winded, no doubt, but my recovery time was brief. I was shocked at how much progress I had made since the previous run. In my state of exhaustion and excitement, I agreed to run another 5K on October 30. Right? What was I thinking?

The truth is, I really do still hate running. As I told my trainer this week, I would rather clean 100 fraternity house toilets. Without gloves. There's just something about that sense of accomplishment that comes with crossing a finish line that keeps me motivated on this healthy life journey.