Begin The Begin - REM

In March or April of last year, my friend Beth Pickens asked me to do the Gay 5k in Golden Gate Park on Pride day. That seemed crazy to me. I had barely started exercising at all, really, since high school. It had been maybe two months of spotty attendance on an elliptical machine at the gym. I arrived there on Market and Church at 5am and watched the West Wing as I twirled the gears and climbed the fake hills. Before saying no to Beth, I thought if I could do the machine for an hour, I could run for 40 minutes, right? How different could it be?

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA . ahem...

I ran about one minute, maybe, before my brain began bargaining, searching for ways out, and reasons to quit. There were hundreds. Literally. But let me cut to the chase, I worked at it, running a little bit more each week, and I made it across the finish line in the park with all the gays. I had to walk for about a minute in the middle, and burst into tears about the failure of it all as soon as I crossed the finish line. Another sick trick of the mind. I could not celebrate finishing, but had to be mad about the 1 minute walk in the middle. I am telling you this in the spirit of full disclosure and letting you know I am perhaps not the most reliable narrator of my own experience. There you have it. Proceed with your grain of salt. I personally have the alchemical symbol for salt tattooed on my finger. I love salt. And I always have a grain on hand to help me move forward.

After the race, I continued to run a bit, a couple miles, a coupla times a week. Then life set in. I sprained my ankle and badly bruised my tailbone, annoying injuries sustained while stepping off a chair at work which I shouldn't have been standing on in the first place. I was up to 3.5 miles when this occurred. This in and of itself was a miracle for a woman the likes of me: a couch parsnip. On December 1, 2009, I set out to begin running again after the ankle, the tailbone, an amazing month long Sister Spit tour, and a steadfast month of in a state of denial. I ran .99 miles that first day, and I told no one about the ideas that began to sprout in the soil on my sick brain that day. I thought A) It was possible the novel I was writing wasn't working and B) Maybe to convince myself I really could write a novel, I should convince myself I could do something else amazing. Is this where I tell you that I never miss an episode of The Biggest Loser? Is this where I tell you I watched all those folks run a marathon? Is it where I reveal that I also cry at every single episode, true and authentic tears of inspiration? Well, people, I do. I weep. And if they can do it, I can do it. And if I can run a marathon, I can write a book.

This is my story leading up to July 25th, 2010. I will tell you here of my deeply weird running thoughts, my training, my writing. I'll post my inspirations, quotes, quirks, failures and triumphs. Musings and theories. There will be pictures and there will be discoveries.

See you Monday.

Love,

Sara Elise.