Marathon Training Ruined My Life

I used to think running was stupid. Up until about four years ago, my stock response to anyone who told me the “only way” to get in shape was to run, was, “The only way to get me to run is to point a gun at my face.” My marathon of choice used to be M*A*S*H on the Hallmark Channel every night from 8–11 p.m., and like any marathoner I followed a strict carbohydrate-rich diet. For most of my life, I felt far superior to runners, who seemed hellbent on pounding their skeletons into oblivion. It would be much smarter, I urged my runner-friends, to follow my lead and recline on couches as much as possible. I was living proof of the theory that being a couch potato leads to zero hip or knee injuries.

So what happened? Why am I here, only days away from running the whole dang Vermont City Marathon and looking forward to it with the kind of anticipation I’ve only experienced on Christmas Eves between the ages of 5 and 13? I won’t trouble you too much with the answer because, honestly, it’s sort of boring. Basically, I grew up and realized that being a couch potato isn’t the way to live a long and healthy life, after all.

But here’s the interesting thing: now that I’m here, I don’t think I can return to my previous lifestyle of carb-fueled evenings on the couch. Here’s how training to run long distances has ruined my life (as I knew it):

1. I have acquired a near-military discipline. Eighteen weeks ago, I downloaded a training schedule that told me exactly how many miles to run each day and I obeyed it like the law. Now I’m certain that I will fall in with criminals and commit my life to crime without it, so I’ve already begun to plan a post-marathon regimen. My calendar looks like something that Tara Lipinski might have hung up in her locker room during the 1998 Olympic tryouts: ambitious, with lots of exclamation points.

2. I am head-over-heels obsessed with spandex shorts. Like, enter a sports shop and make a beeline for the spandex shorts rack obsessed. Aside from groupies at a Joan Jett concert, no one smiles upon spandex quite like members of the running community. These people understand chafage. I feel at home with them.

3. While I’ve been a lifelong member of the Clean Plate Club, I now also claim the additional title of Finisher. I finish my meal, then I finish those of my friends. The appetite of a runner lies somewhere between unquenchable and savage.

4. Back in the days when I didn’t exercise, one of my favorite hobbies was to complain about how much my calves and quadriceps lacked definition. Now, after running many miles, there’s no way I’m not going to work to sustain the lines that appear and disappear when I flex my toes and suggest something of toned legs.

5. Pop music was once my obsession; now it is my lifestyle. I crave everything that is upbeat and peppy, because it makes me excited about running. Now I embrace even the mindless, repetitive songs that used to drive me to near-madness. Let me put it this way: I’ve given a whole new meaning to “Sunny Came Home With a Vengeance.”