Jogging in Boulder

On Wednesday I went outside to decide if I should go jogging. For my extended feelings on jogging (briefly: I hate it), see this post. It was sunny but 38 degrees. Sunny but windy. Sunny but there were little remnants of snow. My coworker Claire came in just as I was coming in, still undecided, and encouraged me not to go—she knows how much I hate jogging. But she also mentioned that it might snow that night. I don’t know if it was the thought of snow and no exercise the next day, or stubbornness in the face of perfectly good encouragement otherwise, but I yanked on my jogging clothes and headed out.

I obviously still need an inhaler. My doctor (who loves to offer pills and medicine) prescribed one for exercise-induced asthma. I stopped using it because although it opened up my lungs and made me feel amazing, like I could breathe all the way into the bottom of my stomach, it also made me panicky. Like I’d drunk four cups of coffee on an empty stomach.

In fact, I credit it for the nasty wreck I had on my mountain bike, when I knew that I had to go faster to keep my balance on a downhill gravel road, but panicking, couldn’t. Instead I skidded out and the gravel dug jagged holes in my elbow and palm. We weren’t camping at a campground with a bathroom, even though it was our anniversary, so we had to go clean it out at a different campground. Now I wear gloves every single time I get on a bike.

Anyway, no inhaler, but I felt more okay than the last time I went jogging. It was windy, though, and the wind was COLD. This being Boulder, there were at least 15 other people out jogging in the one mile I can manage. As I ran along, I thought about how un-virtuous it makes you feel to go out and brave the elements only to have 10 people jog right past you as though you’re not moving. I was only about two minutes from my watch beeping and mercifully allowing me to turn around when I jogged past a friend of mine, Meg. She’s a real runner, so when she said “I’ll run along with you!” and turned to go my direction, I had to pick up the pace. She chatted while I answered questions like this: “good” (gasp) “Sunday” (gasp). And asked them like this: “vacation?” (gasp) “crawling?” (gasp). We managed to communicate. When she turned around again and let me off the hook, I slowed back down to a crawl and longed for the inhaler. When I jogged past a window, I saw that I was tipped forward as though I was only moving by falling with my upper body and keeping up with my feet. Self-consciously, I tried to straighten up, at least to run past the delivery drivers sitting in their trucks at Rudi’s Bakery. Stretching is the only part of running I like, and the sun felt good and looked good glinting off the snow as I windmilled and pulled on my elbows. I felt awfully proud of myself all afternoon, drinking water and trying to set up appointments for my next conference (New York City in two weeks).