Run, Tanya, Run

Hi, my name is Tanya and I’m a runner. I can’t imagine that it’s any harder for an alcoholic to announce themselves, than it was for me to admit that. Not that I’m ashamed – it’s just that I don’t feel qualified.

About a year and a half ago, I made some changes and decided to start running and take a Zumba class. The Zumba was awesome, but the running took a little getting used to (and I never could have done it without the Couch to 5K app, which I can’t say enough about).

Now, I wasn’t a complete novice, since I had actually tried running before - ONCE. Thirty years ago my college roommate Robyn said, “Wanna go jogging?” and I said blithely said “Sure.” She ran me up one side of a mountain (I was living in Utah), back down the other and I staggered home, puked my socks up and never went again.

(This is the actual mountain. Really. Our apartment was right at the bottom, and no, I don't know what I was thinking.)

When I did start again, I eventually worked up to running 2-3 miles a day, three days a week, and I’ve done it for about 16 months, off and on. You would think that would be enough to make me a runner, but I still feel like the words “LIAR” are flashing in neon on my forehead.

So here’s the thing. I have four kids and I don’t have a problem telling people I’m a mom. Sometimes I’m a crappy mom, or a distracted mom, or a mean mom, but still…I never tell someone that I’m NOT a mom (tempting as it might be).

Years ago I took up photography, developed my own darkroom prints, studied the mechanics of composition and took photos semi-professionally for years. I don’t have the time or inclination to do it much anymore, but I still consider myself a photographer.

I have enough scrapbooking supplies to archivally preserve any memory you’ve ever even thought about having, and my shelves are filled with family scrapbooks. Yet when Eli had his accident, I stopped scrapbooking, because for me, it was all about preserving happy memories, and those were thin on the ground for a while. But I still consider myself a scrapbooker, even though I’m not currently producing any pages.

Why is it so hard to still consider myself a runner just because I haven’t run in a few weeks?

I don’t think we always perceive ourselves accurately. Even though I haven’t scrapbooked or snapped any photos lately, I still have all the supplies and skills, so I don’t feel false identifying myself as such. Yet I’m unbelievably conflicted saying I’m a runner if I haven’t run recently and religiously and successfully.

Maybe it has to do with the preconceived notions we have of the way people should be. The runner in my mental stereotype has a color-coordinated sports bra, ropy, muscular legs, and a ponytail that bounces while she talks (as she runs) about things like “endorphins” and “second wind” and “feeling the burn.” She has cool sunglasses and a tan, too. I don’t know why. She just does.

Sadly, none of these magical qualities have been made manifest in my experience. The last ponytail I had was probably tied with fat, fuzzy yarn for my third grade picture. My hair is more likely to be in full bed-head mode, standing on end in matted clumps, and one of my greatest accomplishments was to stop worrying that someone would see me...and laugh...and point.

I can’t talk about runner’s high or my second wind because I CAN’T TALK when I’m running…I can barely breathe. I occasionally pass other women who chat while they jog, and I usually try to trip them, if I can.

My running clothes aren’t color-coordinated - they’re drenched in sweat, and my running shoes give off a cloud of dust every time they hit the pavement because my daughter borrowed them to wear to the dust bowl at Bonnaroo. Now that I think about it, if you imagine that Pig-Pen character from Charlie Brown, you can start to get a pretty accurate visual.

My only special skill is the ability to put on a little extra burst of speed if a cute guy drives by.

So I ran for over a year, sweated my guts out at Zumba twice a week and dropped about 30 pounds. I felt good, but I still never felt like a runner.

I wonder what it takes?

Have you got any secret identities you’re afraid to claim? I’ll be brave if you will. Just say, “Hi, my name is ________ and I'm a _______." I promise not to point or laugh.