Chipwiches in the Cemetery

It all began in the eighth grade during the annual Presidential Physical Fitness test. I ran the mile in under ten minutes and was so impressed with myself, I felt led to join the track team. Sprinting was clearly not my thing, so "long distance" track it was. The realization that the half mile and mile events were torture came quickly. There was, however, one factor in my favor, consistency; I was second to last in every race.

Since track went so poorly for me, it was clear there was only one thing left to do, sign up for cross county. My parents even shelled out money to send me to running camp that summer. Possibly the worst investment they ever made. Seriously, me at running camp? Then again, it might have been worth every penny to have my brother and I out of the house at the same time.

Speaking of Jeff, maybe I should blame the entire ordeal of running on him. We could frame it as the classic little sister following in the footsteps of her big brother, wanting to be like him. Or maybe it was the desire to be on a team; Since I had gotten cut from Basketball and Cheerleading, my options were slim. Or maybe we could blame the running desire on the cool sweats the cross country team got to wear. Regardless of the reason, there I was running through the town of Abingdon, inhaling fumes from the traffic as we ran next to everyday on Main Street. Truth be known, sometimes I didn't always run down main street. I didn't even always run.

My friend LuLu* was a natural runner with a clear gift. She broke the school record for fastest mile in 8th grade. The coach had high aspirations for her high school running career, but there was just one problem; she didn't really like to run. She would rather go for a smoke than a jog. So instead of participating in practice, we would "run" to the local gas station, buy chipwiches, and then hang out in the cemetery next to the high school. I'm sure we didn't fool good ol' Coach Cumbow, but I'm pretty sure my Dad is learning about these adventures as he reads this...

Come race day, I paid for my lack of practice and indulgence of chipwiches. It was ugly. Of course LuLu would sail across the finish line in one of the top three positions. That year was our first and last on the cross country team. I had to turn in my sweats, but I decided they weren't really worth the effort anyway.

Last month, I redeemed my poor running career, if ever it can be redeemed. After being inspired by several tri-athlete friends, I trained and competed in the Danskin Triathlon for women. It is a sprint triathlon in which women swim 1/2 mile, bike 12 miles, and run 3.1 miles. My goal was to finish in under 2 hours, and I'm proud to say my time was 1 hour and 44 minutes. And the crazy part? The run was my best event! I finished in the top 10 percent overall in the run (215 out of 2612) with a time of 27:37. Now that's a time of 27:37 after swimming and biking, and I'm pretty sure that's around what I ran in high school when the only event was to run. Which makes me realize how bad I really was.

It's been over a month now since my day in the sun. The glory has been wearing off little by little. I've gained three pounds since the end of my 5-day-a-week training regime. But even if it never happens again, I can look back and remind myself 20 years from now that I was once a tri-athlete. If only they had given out cool sweats that I could wear to the next mommy & me playdate. I did get a medal, but it seems a little over the top to wear in public. So I wear it at home when I'm cleaning and cooking to remind myself I am no ordinary housekeeper.

*Name was changed to protect the guilty, just in case Coach Cumbow didn't know after all...