average life

?Hi, my name is Robert, and this is my podcast?.  After we start with our usual brisk 5 minute warm up walk, we will then jog for about 28 minutes or 2 and three-quarter miles.  So if you?re ready, lets get started with our brisk, warm up walk?.?

In my iPod earbuds, forty-three year-old Robert explained that this was the podcast for week 8 of the 9 week couch-to-5k program.  It was only my second day running, but I decided that I was definitely more towards the 5k side of the couch-to-5k spectrum and decided to skip ahead towards the end.  Robert?s voice faded and the volume on the techno music ramped up.  I had worried that I would find the music too boring, but as I walked down 12th Street to the park, I found that the high BPM music really energized me.

?Okay, are you ready for your run?  This will be your only run and lasts about 28 minutes. I?ll give you reminders about halfway through and then about a minute before we are done.  If you are ready, let’s get started with your 28 minute ru-.?

I hit pause.  I was waiting to cross Piedmont and didn?t want the time to start without me.  Once the traffic died down, I walked over to the park entrance and pressed play:

?-un…?

The music set a quick pace as I cut to the right and hopped up the stairs to the paved trail that edged 10th Street.

Beat.   Breathe.  Beat.  Breathe.  Beat.  Breathe.  Beat.

The wind was cooler than it had been the previous few days and I easily glided by the power walkers and the strollers.  Every once in a while, I smugly passed another runner, not even acknowledging their presence.

Beat.   Breathe.  Beat.  Breathe.  Beat.  Breathe.  Beat.

I passed the space bathroom.  Jey and I had been walking in the park a few weeks earlier when we first saw it.  Near the south entrance of the park stood a small-brushed metal building.  On it was an LED sign that said “Vacant” or “Occupied”.  Jey pushed the elevator-style button that said ?Open? and the door silently slid to the left.  There was more brushed metal on the inside ? including the toilet.  Since it was a public bathroom, it was trashed and looked like it could use some Lysol.  An interesting ?feature? of the space bathroom that we noticed advertised on the front was its anti-loitering policy.  After 10 minutes of occupation, the door automatically opened – no matter what.  We moved on.  I kept running.

Beat.   Breathe.  Beat.  Breathe.  Beat.  Breathe.  Beat.

I reached Park Tavern and was starting to feel the first signs of fatigue.  I still maintained my quick pace, but my lungs were beginning to burn.  I was passed by an old guy in black running shorts, but I made up for it by passing a woman that looked like she was in pretty good shape.

Beat.   Breathe.  Breathe.  Beat.  Breath.  Breathe.  Breathe.  Beat.  Breathe.  Beat.

I have to make it as least as far as I ran on Saturday, I told myself.  Two days before, I had taken the same route and had run to the dog park tucked back in the trees.  I dropped into the woods on one of the singleback trails to scout it out for mountain-bike potential, but after seeing the eclectic mix of litter that covered the ground, I decided that I wasn?t ever going to go into those woods again without an adult.

Beat.  Breathe.  Breathe.  Breathe.  Breath.  Beat.  Beat.

Where was the friggin? halfway point?  Surely I had been running fifteen minutes already.  Whatever the time was, I knew I wasn?t going to make it much longer.  I picked a point in the distance as my goal and pushed ahead.

Breathe.  Just keep breathing….

I reached the garbage can and placed my hands on my head as I slowed to a walk.  Was I really in that bad of shape?  Couldn?t I even run 15 minutes?  I walked towards the bridge.  A couple with a small puppy walked by and before I realized it, I had kicked the dog.  It was a complete accident caused by the lack of coordination on both of our parts and it wasn?t as much a kick as a firm foot-nudge, but I was still horrified and bent down to scratch its tiny ears in apology.  The couple rolled their eyes and I kept walking.

?Okay, you are about halfway through your 28 minute run.  How are you feeling??

Screw you, Robert.

?Great.  Keep going!?

A guy skinnier than me blew past.  Bullcrap.  I broke into a jog.  There was no way I was letting this little nerd leave me behind.  After thirty seconds of pursuit, he double-backed.  Wuss.  I continued on up the hill, but soon was walking again.  I gave a poodle the evil eye in the hopes he would charge me only to be jerked back on his leash by his owner, but the little punk was trying to be the bigger man.

My chest seared from the effort and I walked with my hands on my hips.  Drum beats and synthesizers echoed in my ears.  I dropped down to the ?active oval? and started running again on the small, firm gravel.  I wanted to yell through my gritted teeth.

Running was such an evil monster.  I loved doing it and the feeling of accomplishment that it gave me, but it wasn?t going to just hand all that over.  No, it had to beat me like a single-wide common-law wife first.  I hate you, running, I thought.

I was an angry runner.

I completed a lap of the ?active oval? and painfully slowed to a walk again.  I cut across the field and staggered down the stairs to the path along the north side of Lake Clara Meer.

?Okay, we have a minute left to go.  Push it if you can.?

Die, Robert.

I pushed it and passed a rollerblader who apparently hadn?t realized that the nineties had been over for eight years.  Come on, dangit.  You can do one more frigging minute!  I forced myself to not count one-thousands.

?Congratulations!  You made it through your 28 minute run!?

Robert, you suck.

?Now let?s take five minutes to cool down.?

I not-so-briskly walked back up 12th Street.  When I got to my building, I passed the elevator and plodded up the stairwell to my apartment.  Once inside, I opened my laptop and downloaded Podcasts for Running?Week 1.