I know people love running with other people. They find it really great, and they love to socialize and I won’t deny that the one 18 miler I did during the summer where I actually had a running buddy was the most fun. I would love to run with other people. I think it would be awesome, I would love to have the company, and during the WDW marathon they could’ve taken every last character off the course and if they’d just left me Katherine I would’ve paid twice as much for the race. But the way it usually pans out is that I’m the slower one holding other people back and at the point I’m at now, psychologically I can’t handle being the slow person holding other people back. It’s like hitting every single last raw nerve I have at this point.
So when my friend told me she still felt like shit from pneumonia but she was going to run the Rutgers Half in two weeks anyway and wanted to know my pace, my initial reaction was: this is totally awesome because if anyone can pace me to a sub-2:00 finish it’s this lady–raised in Soviet era Hungary she’s like one of those hardcore Soviet coaches you see in 1970s/80s sports films that are kind of terrifying, except that when she runs as a pacer she wears a delightful pink tutu and tank top and has her hair in braided pigtails. She’s also running NYC in November and I really want her to pace me there, despite the fact that she also qualified for Boston and I could never in a billion years keep up with her, but I would 100% travel up to NJ every weekend to long run train with her and her run group.
Basically, she’s also like, The Runner. For all you non-lifelong-runners, you know how you had that friend/relative/whatever who was The Runner? The person you knew who ran regularly, who you thought initially was totally crazy and then you started running and you held them up on a pedestal as like, the embodiment of running? No? Just me? Okay then.
Anyway, she is this for me. I swear to God, I will run the shit out of myself and try desperately to lose the 10lbs I’ve apparently re-gained since January if it means I could semi-kinda-sorta-vaguely keep up with her. Only I don’t think I’ll be able to, even if she is recovering from being really sick and having trouble breathing. Because, even on her worst day she’s like a zillion years ahead of me.
This is why I hate being slow. If I were the super speedy one, it’d be no big deal–I can run whatever pace I want. I’m experiencing some serious running resentment right now.