So, there I was: 3 a.m. on a Wednesday morning, wide awake and thinking about my 5 a.m. workout at Orange Theory Fitness (OTF). The coaches had warned us in advance that it was a “benchmark” workout (a template they surface every six months or so as a way to gauge our gains in fitness.) Today would be the 12-minute run for distance.
I’m not all that fast; I’m not even mildly fast anymore after various running injuries and landing a real “grown-up” job. However, when the fires really smoked out my last race season in 2018 and I joined OTF I thought: now let’s have some fun playing with numbers. And so far, that’s what I’ve done.
I have no illusions that I am in any sort of race shape. I am, however, in better shape than I have been in for a good long while. And so, at 3 a.m. as I stared at my dark ceiling (just like I used to do before a big race) I started thinking about why it’s important to do things that scare us every once in a while. For one, life without a little adventure would be pretty boring. But, it’s more than that. I believe this is how we are supposed to grow as people— how we slowly meander our way toward becoming better— kinder, more empathetic— maybe even wiser than we once were.
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There are a handful of things I really think are impossible things for me to do. I don ‘t mean things like flying unaided or discovering that I can bend steel bars, read minds or anything like that. I mean things that other, normal people can do. For example, I could never be a proctologist. I just don’t like people that much and anything evasive or hands-on exceeds the skill sets that I was born with. I also don’t think I’ll ever work on Wall Street. I don’t own the right kind of suits and a life governed by what other people think about numbers (I’d rather look at race splits than stock shares) really sounds like some awful version of hell.
Running two miles in twelve minutes and raising $5,000 for the Arthritis Foundation are also things that fell into this category, once. The twelve-minute idea because I have never been able to maintain a consistent training regimen focused on running without becoming injured since my marathoning days. Fundraising, well, because (reference my statement about numbers above) but I have also never considered myself a fundraising type of person.
You know what I mean. Fundraising people, a.k.a. the philanthropists among us engage in civic duties beyond working a full time job, maintaining a household and not completely losing their minds. They possess advanced social skills, tend to be very social and have a lot of friends—which is sort the opposite of me: I’m an introvert, I read a lot and my friends are mostly cats, a dog and a bunch of chickens.
I imagine these are the girls who actually sold girl scout cookies. Not like I did, when I forced my mom to take the form to her office where she would guilt all her co-workers into a box of thin mints. No, the fundraisers among us went door to door. They stood in front of K-Mart. They devised campaigns and earned badges while I meekly carried my five boxes proudly around the office suite to adults who didn’t even realize I was a girl scout.
So, it’s probably not surprising I grew up thinking I was really bad at that fundraising thing. My degrees in English literature and writing (which invited a lot of reading, brooding, wearing black and hanging out in coffee houses contemplating existential meaninglessness of it all) also didn’t prepare me for a vocation that requires that you engage with the world in a very real and very people-oriented way.
But, sometimes you just have to try something new. That’s what this year is all about. And this morning.
So, I got out of bed and put on my running shoes and got to the OTF studio in time for the 5 a.m. class and my attempt at running 2 miles in 12 minutes.
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I am really grateful to organizations like OTF that offer literally anybody an opportunity to push themselves and to become physically, emotionally and even mentally better. I will never forget my first OTF class—when it was smokey outside—and I thought I was this incredibly strong cyclist. At a certain point in the workout, I was in the middle of doing lunges, and my legs just stopped working. I mean, literally: I was suck in that half-lunge position. I sort of panicked a little.
Then, I panicked a lot. Like this: Help me because I’ve lunged and I can’t stand up.
I made it through that class and the next one and the next one after that— but I haven’t been that sore in a long time. They were teaching me to use different muscles and to utilize different movement patterns. After a year, though, what I really love about the studio is their openness to anyone: the message there is very clear: start where you are, do your best and we’ll help you get to where you want to go.
I have worked out next to men who can outrun, out-row, out-lift me. I have also worked out next to people coming back from an injury, or who are taking care of themselves for the first time for reasons that are varied and important. I have worked out next to younger people. Older people. More beautiful people. I have also met people who are just like me.
It’s not a women-only or a men-only thing. It’s not a certain age group or ability level. It’s a room with orange lights that makes you look like a chicken nugget under a heat lamp where you all suffer together like this crazy-community of crazies. At the end of it all, we high-five each other and there’s a genuine sense of well-wishing between people. (Why can’t more of the world work this way?)
At OTF, it’s really about achieving your personal best. I am so grateful that they are helping me to achieve mine.
So, it nearly brought me to tears when my OTF gym donated to the Arthritis Foundation for my journey to the CCC with Team Carter. They didn’t have to do that— but they did. But, that’s what’s so amazing about this community of people who are diverse and wonderful and as crazy as I am to show up on a Wednesday excited to see what 12 minutes of continuous running on a treadmill can bring us. Fatigue, yes— but something else. I’d like to call it heart.
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Because I’m me, I’ll tell you how it went. I always set up next to this intense guy. I’ll call him Mark. He’s quiet. I actually think he’s really nice, but he and I share “the zone.” We go into “the zone” when we run/row/lift, and that’s not a place for small talk or any talk. Often, we’ll start pushing the up arrow on the treadmill, trying to out-pace each other until it might just toss us off the back. Sometimes he “wins”. Sometimes I “win”. Sometimes it’s a draw.
All I wanted today was to hit 2 miles. That’s it— I’ve been dealing with a calf injury and a cold, so I knew I wasn’t 100%. But 2 miles would give me two-tenths of a mile improvement from my last attempt, which is considerable.
Per the usual, Mark didn’t say anything on the treadmill before we started. I half-mumbled I really wanted to run two miles. I set my speed to 10.1 mph, or 5:56 pace. Mark started at 11 mph, or 5:27. I didn’t watch his speed after that. I felt really good— strong, smooth. It really felt effortless. At the mile, I picked it up to 10.3 mph and then again at the 1.5 mile mark to 10.5 mph.
When time was called, I had officially covered 2.04 miles, which comes out to a 5:52 average pace. Nothing to write home about, but not bad considering. Mark would land about a tenth of a mile ahead of me at 2.1 miles.
It’s not often you prove yourself wrong twice in one day, but perhaps this day is special. I ran faster than I ever thought I could and I am moving forward, meeting my goal to contribute to the Arthritis Foundation. It’s small steps, I know; but steps in this new direction are good.
Follow me on this crazy and incredible journey to the California Coast Classic!! Learn more about it on my official donation page. Donations of every size are welcomed and deeply appreciated. Follow me here, for more updates on this journey.