Chapter
One: Breathless
“And now…the
last one.” I winked at Karen as I picked up my last
Christmas present—and the most mysterious one.
The heavy box was an odd size. I peeled back the pretty red paper and
saw a box that looked like the one her last pair of boots had come in. I know
she didn’t get me boots. I broke the tape on the box, lifted the lid, dug through
layers of tissue
paper and found Jim Fixx’s The Complete Book of Running.
“Oh, Karen, this is
a surprise.” My fifteen-year-old daughter had a knack for selecting thoughtful gifts.
“I hope you like
it,” Karen said.
“According to the guys
at work, this is the book for a beginning runner.”
I had started running
only a few months earlier, but it hadn’t gone well in the beginning. And I still had
a lot to learn.
The year was 1978. I
worked for Martin Marietta, a large defense company in Orlando. I was one of only two
women in a group of about thirty men. We sat on the second floor of a building with only
one small elevator. Hardly anyone used the elevator, but took the wide stairs instead. I
had noticed that going up that single flight of stairs left me panting and with a flushed
face. One day after I had hurried up the stairs, I felt the sweat pop out and heard the
metronome in my chest accelerate. This isn’t good. I’m only in my early
thirties and in apparently good health.
A similar thought had
occurred to me just a few weeks earlier. I had been a member of the pit crew for a bicycle
team during a twenty-four hour race. I tried to run to the far side of the oval track,
about a third of a mile, to check on a rider who was down. After less than fifty yards, my
heart was racing and I was gasping for air.
This is much too hard. I
should be able to run this far. What’s wrong with me?
The harder I pushed to
keep moving fast, the slower I ran. Eventually, I couldn’t run at all and had to
walk. I couldn’t blame it on my weight; I hadn’t yet reached the age when my
waistbands got inexplicably tighter.
With the exception of
some sporadic bicycle racing myself during the previous three years, I had so far
carefully avoided sports of all types. In fact, if my high school had had a superlative
for “Least Athletic,” I might well have claimed the title four years running. In
PE, the team captains argued over whose turn it was to “take” me. “You have
to take her today. I had her yesterday.” I treated basketball like dodge ball,
avoiding contact with the orange sphere. During softball, I played right outfield, where I
ignored the game and made clover chains. Marching in the band provided a meager bit of
exercise, but that only lasted about three months out of the year.
So it wasn’t that
I had gotten out of shape. I had never gotten into shape.
Jim Fixx’s book
had been out less than a year and was still on the bestseller list, along with Kenneth Cooper’s The Aerobics Way, also released
the previous year. The terms “aerobic” and “jogging” were new to the
general public. Both terms had become topics for discussion in my group at work.
One day John leaned back in his chair, rested his legs on the corner of his desk, and
tilted his head to one side. He frowned as he stroked his wiry beard. We waited for
another one of his proclamations. “Cooper says two miles three times a week is enough
to achieve and maintain cardio-vascular health.”
Jim nodded. “Yeah,
I’ve heard that, too.”
Howard looked up.
“So, Jim, do you run?”
“Yeah, I’ve
been running about a year. How about you?”
“No, man, I’m
way too busy. I might think about it when this contract is over. I play racquet ball when
I can find a partner.”
Howard looked my way.
“How about you, Bettie?”
“No, I don’t.
But I’ve noticed lately that I get winded too easily. I must need some sort of
exercise.”
Even though Jim was the
only one in the group who actually did run, all three were equally certain that I
should run. The only requirements, they pointed out, were shoes and a street. No partners.
No reservations. No memberships. No expensive equipment. Sounded easy.
Step one—buy
shoes.
Jim suggested I go to Track Shack, a running specialty store that had opened in
Orlando just a few months earlier. He said they’d guide me to the right shoes and
also advise me on how to get started. A few days later, I surveyed strange looking shoes
with equally strange names—Adidas, Nike, Saucony, Brooks, Asics, Reebok. While I
waited for someone to help me select shoes, I browsed the clothes. I discovered that
running shorts have a built-in liner, or brief, and a small pocket for a key. I learned
that the undershirt-looking tank tops that runners wear are called singlets. An hour
later, I walked out of the store with not only my first pair of Sauconys tucked under my
arm, but also a pair of running shorts and a couple of singlets. I had failed to ask for
the advice.
Step two—the actual running.
I’ll
start with a mile today, and then build up to two miles. Since I had not
actually read either of the aforementioned books yet, or anything else about running, I
knew nothing about warming up, stretching, or pacing. I thought running meant full-out
RUNNING.
I put
on my new shorts and a singlet, laced up my new Sauconys, and sped through the front door
and right out onto the street, intending to run the one-mile loop I had measured with my
car. I apparently had amnesia regarding that attempt to check on the biker, because I
actually believed I could go a mile at that pace. Or maybe I thought that wearing real
running shoes would enable me to dash out the door and around the loop. I shouldn’t
have been surprised that after less than half a block, I was struggling to get air.
I must be in bad
shape. . .gasp. . . How can people do this?
I walked until I could breathe—about twenty yards—during which my thinking
changed to, I’m determined to do this. I will not turn around. I will not go down
in defeat. But in another quarter mile, I did give up and straggled home.
Two days later, I went
out for another try. This time I started out a bit slower, and didn’t have to walk as
soon. I did still have to stop to catch my breath every so often, but I completed the mile
that time. I also revised my goal. I decided to conquer one mile without stopping,
and worry later about two miles.
This milestone was
reached in only three months. Even then it was because I had company.
“Mom, you
don’t mind if Nicki and I run with you, do you?” Linda asked. Nicki was
Linda’s dog.
“No, I don’t
mind.”
Of course I
don’t mind, I thought with no small amount of irritation. Thinking back, I was no
doubt embarrassed at the thought of thirteen-year-old Linda seeing firsthand how
out-of-shape her mother was.
Linda and Nicki annoyed
me at first, as Nicki repeatedly left the road to explore. Each time Nicki ventured off,
Linda and I were forced to slow our pace. At first, I resented each of these slow-downs,
but by halfway around the loop, I started to think that going slower might be good. I was
more relaxed, and wasn’t forced to stop to catch my breath—a first. We finished
the mile easily, the first time I had gone the entire distance without walking.
My heart raced, this
time not from exertion but from exhilaration.
“Linda, I
wasn’t thrilled about you and Nicki coming with me, but now I’m grateful you
did. This is the first time I’ve run the whole mile without stopping to walk.”
Nicki had just taught
me an important lesson. Running as fast as possible is only for sprinters. The slower pace
that Nicki forced—what some call a jogging pace—enabled me to run longer without
stopping. Later, I would learn from Jim Fixx’s book that a better way to begin a
running program is to start out walking briskly, then alternate walking and running until
it’s easy to run continuously. But without the benefit of the book, I needed a dog to
show me about pacing.
Now that I had learned
how to run a full mile without stopping, I extended my distance a little each
week—sometimes in terms of two or three houses—until I finally reached my
original goal of two miles. Staying with the three-times-a-week plan, I usually ran on
Tuesday, Thursday, and either Saturday or Sunday.
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Running was starting to pay off for my cardio-vascular system; going up the stairs was a
bit easier on my lungs, and I thought I felt better overall. But I began to have knee
pain. At first, it bothered me only while I ran, but then I noticed it when I walked up
the stairs. One day at work, while my knees were still smarting from the stairs, I
mentioned this to Jim. Since he was the only runner I knew, I depended on him for advice.
He asked me to stand up, and then take a couple of steps slowly. “It looks like you
pronate.”
“I what?”
“You pronate. Take
a step very slowly. Notice how straight your ankle is when your heel first touches the
ground? But as you put weight on your foot, your ankle rolls inward. That’s
pronation. You probably need orthotics.”
“Orthotics?”
“Yes, they’re
inserts that go inside your shoes. They lift the inside of the foot to prevent the
pronation. I’ll give you the name of my podiatrist. He’s a runner himself, so
he’s sympathetic to the problem.”
“Well, thanks for
the explanation. I guess I am twisted, literally.”
“Okay, wise guy.
Just go see the podiatrist.”
A couple of weeks later, I was walking for the podiatrist’s inspection.
“Over half the population pronates to some degree. A much smaller group suppinates,
while only a few people have ankles that remain perfectly vertical”
“What does it mean to suppinate?”
“Suppination is the opposite of pronation; a suppinating foot rolls outward.
The reason either one causes knee pain is that when the ankle falls to one side, it causes
the tibia (shin bone) to rotate in the knee socket. The continual rotation of the tibia
irritates the knee socket and causes pain.”
The podiatrist then explained that orthotics minimize the rotation enough to
prevent the pain. For a pronator, the orthotic is built up higher on the inside,
preventing the foot from rolling inward as much.
He had me lie face down on a table with my feet hanging off the end. He made
plaster casts of my relaxed feet, from which the orthotics would be made. He also measured
my feet and inspected the wear pattern on my running shoes. Before I left, he suggested I
not run until after I had my new inserts.
Three weeks later, I got my first look at these curious devices. They were about
three-fourths the length of each foot, and made of three layers of material. A middle
layer was thicker under each heel area and along the inside, creating a slant.
Eager to see how the inserts felt, I slipped them into my shoes and walked around
the office. Surprisingly, I didn’t notice much difference. The podiatrist watched me
walk, and pointed out that my ankles were now only barely falling to the inside. He
recommended an adjustment period during which my muscles and joints would get accustomed
to the inserts. He suggested I start with a short distance for the first few runs, then
gradually regain my previous mileage.
As soon as I got home,
I went out for a half mile. During the time I didn’t run, the knee pain had subsided,
and now I naturally expected it to come back.
I can’t feel much difference in my feet or legs.
The next
morning, as I walked up the stairs, I expected my knees to hurt again. Hmm, no pain.
Good. I added distance until I was back to a full mile. Still no pain. Within three
weeks, I was back to my full two-mile loop, and still not feeling any soreness in my
knees.
I can’t
speak for others who use orthotics, but for me the effect was extraordinary. They took
away concern about my knees, freeing me to just run.
As a side note, now in 2007, I’m still using those same orthotics that were
made in 1978. They’re working for me as well today as they did then.
After that Christmas, I eagerly read Jim Fixx’s book, and just as eagerly
waited for the promises he made. I did maintain my weight easier, and I felt better
overall. But one never came true for me. Fixx said that regular aerobic exercise would
enable one to function with less sleep. I had always required a lot of sleep, so I thought
if I could get by on less, even one hour less, I’d have love having the extra time in
my day. But each time I got less sleep, I suffered through the day.
I’ve since learned that when I train hard, I actually need more sleep to
enable my body to recover from the workouts.
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