Why My Legs Are Currently Dead...

The most important pieces of glorified cardboard...

Cue the mood music (aka. the song that has been stuck in my head for the past few days)
Starting in April this last year, I went running. At first, it was nothing, just a casual workout every Tuesday and Thursday with one of my best friends, Skylar. We would do a few laps around the track, then 10-20 minutes on the treadmill, but mostly we were going to the gym for the steam room in the ladies lockers. After that, I joined a Running With Ed team for my English teacher, Ms. Hooker. Before I knew it, I had run two legs of a 40 mile relay, the first being six miles long, the second being seven. At the time, it was the most I had ever run, and I felt totally crazy for doing it with almost no practice.


This is only the tip of the iceberg. After Running With Ed, I did a 5k with Sky, the Pride Day 5k, which is part of Utah's phenomenal Gay Pride Festival. We ran a 32:40, crossing the finish line with our hands clasped together and held high over our heads. It was then that I knew I wanted to run more, I just didn't know where it would take me.

So, a few weeks later, Sky shows me this flyer that she had picked up at school. It was an announcement about the first meeting of the Park City High School Cross Country Running team, beckoning forth freshmen from the masses. It sounded fun, so we decided that we would go.

That's what got me to where I am today, eight minutes faster, with a current personal record of 24:14 for a 5k, and so sore that even four ibuprofen isn't taking the edge off of it. I run 30 to 40 miles per week, including sprints and hill workouts. I endure the torture of sadistic coaches, who truly have our best interests at heart when they run us hard enough that we puke, or very nearly lose our lunch. I am a cross country runner.

Yesterday afternoon, I ran the best race of my life, earning my fifth place spot, as well as the minute long gap that dragged behind me. It was great, kicking up gravel in my hot pink Nike racing spikes (with blanks in, of course), even though the soles are just glorified cardboard, which left my feet speckled with bruises after just over three miles of pure hills. It's bliss, terribly painful bliss, and I love it so much.

That's why my legs are currently dead.