Running Through a Dream

It has taken me 20 months and 7 countries to want to start running again . . .

Back in August, I would lace-up my black non-slip sneakers coated in grease splatter and smeared cake frosting and don my black apron. I would rush out the door, late as always, and coax my '91 salvaged Honda Accord to life, listening to the starter turn over a futile 20 times as I watched the clock steadily tick off minutes. Once it eventually roared to life, I headed west and flipped through channels on the radio debating which overplayed song I wanted to listen to more. I would sigh, take a deep breath, and put on my smiles. The more smiles, the more tips. The more tips, the more money to go abroad! I felt as though every day I was, to steal Tom Petty's famous line, running down a dream.

And now, as my feet hit the pavement and I wipe humid sweat out of my eye, I realize that I am inside that dream; I am here. I scan the horizon and look out across the dry landscape speckled with cows, barbed wire fences, and frail wooden houses. I am in Ecuador. I'm in Ecuador! I am not currently chasing down a dream, but rather running (literally) through one.

20 months ago I raced my final collegiate race. And then I was done. To say that I was “burnt out” would be the understatement of the year. My running shoes sat in the closet untouched except for a few hikes, several bike rides, or when my beautiful, too-fit-for-her-own-good girlfriend dragged me to the gym with her. I went running a few times in Albuquerque – probably a total of 5 outings in 7 months. But each time I would remember why I no longer put myself through such agony – physically, and apparently still emotionally, and then vow to never do that again. Countless people have asked me in disbelief:you don't run anymore; don't you feel ansy; don't you just want to run for fun? I thought you were a runner?

The frustration that was entrenched in my last 2 years of running, and especially in my last months on the track team, had not yet completely passed. It was like getting over an ex-boyfriend, running and I had dated for 9 years, we had our ups and we had our downs together, we cried and we celebrated. There were days I cheated on my running shoes, choosing to sit on the couch instead of lacing up and I was always left with an intense feeling of guilt. And like any end to a long-term relationship, the breakup always hurts more when you get dished the lower-hand. Perhaps I was so burnt out because it was not me who chose to end this dynamic but rather my injury. The chronic pain in my back damaged not only my training but also my mental strength to such an extent that I could not only run without pain, but couldn't run without getting angry to the point of exhaustion.

So why then on January 6th did I choose to pick up the sport again? What made me eventually dispel my negative apprehensions toward running and set out alone for the open-air market in Quito to buy a pair of cheap, mock-Nike running shoes?

Was it because I had watched Amanda head out for a daily jog over the last 2 months? Was it because Amanda and I spontaneously decided back in November that we wanted to run a half-marathon at some point during our trip and I had foolishly agreed? Or was it because I had hit the point in the post-breakup period that I had finally forgotten how frustrated I had been?

No, I don't believe any of these are the reasons. It was more like I just woke up one morning, realized I was in the southern hemisphere and decided things were different down here. And if I may borrow the wit of a dear friend who held my hand – and stretched my back – more than anyone during my injury: perhaps the reason I can run down here is because my hip twists the opposite direction on this side of the equator, causing me to be . . . just . . . normal.

Since the 6th of January and the introduction of my new, pink running shoes – which are slightly small as I (only standing at 5'6”) have bigger feet apparently than Ecuador stocks shoes for, I have taken up running to such an extent that I would (gasp!) say it's become a routine.

Here in Puerto El Morro, after work I hit the dirt roads, finding myself breathing harder than is comfortable, yet knowing that with time I will eventually get back into the stride of things. (And a little pressure from the imminent date of our half-marathon in Santiago, Chile on April 3rd certainly helps the daily motivation.) Instead of training for a race and a team and because of self-assigned pressure, I now run slowly against the backdrop of llamas, hole-in-the-wall ice cream tiendas, and one-lane highways lined by tall, dry grasses.

I suppose this story ends in a happy place; though post-marathon may present a much different view, so stay tuned. Yet for now, I can at least say that I am on the road to recovery in regards to my negative memories of running. And if nothing else, at least I am able to hang with the llamas of South America for a good 30 minutes every day.