A former swimmer’s lament.

In moving to Ukraine, I’ve discovered lots of wildly interesting things about myself: I like and am willing to try most food, I can live alone without going crazy or becoming too terribly depressed, I am definitely okay no longer being an undergraduate student (post-MSU sadness had lingered), and that I am capable of going days without washing my hair and it looking good (something Sarah had taught me, but I failed to trust her wisdom for years). One thing that has been re-confirmed many times is this:

I AM NOT A LAND SPORT KIND OF GAL.

This is not new information.

For those of you not familiar with my background, I grew up swimming for YMCA and USA teams. I then swam in high school and continued staying in shape through swimming by training off and on with the triathlon group at MSU. Due to various shoulder injuries, I no longer use swimming as any sort of exercise and haven’t competed since my senior year of high school.

Then: I was an outrageously athletic person who occasionally did dry-land activities as cross-training.
Now: I am here. In Ukraine, where running is the only feasible (free) method of exercise I have.

During college, I got into running. On and off. I would go through phases – buy some sweet shoes and a gym pass, only to get bogged down by finals, gain 10 pounds and cease all activity.

Please note, this is not meant to be a Debbie Downer post.

I am making progress. Immense. Since coming to Ukraine, I’ve developed a running routine. I usually run 2-3 times a week (occasionally more such as when it is nice out, and occasionally less, such as when I got a severe stomach virus and couldn’t eat for 5 days). I’ve met and surpassed my initial goals: running 30 minutes non-stop, and running 3 miles at one time. I’ve even gotten to a point where I can have fast runs, slow runs, lazy runs (This was very hard for a long time because I had one speed of running. If I wasn’t running I was walking). I am very impressed with myself. I’ve learned to enjoy running – I no longer run with headphones (partly for safety – I want to hear the dogs chasing me) because without music, all running is, is just me counting and breathing. I can lose myself in thoughts, poems and songs that I repeat endlessly in my head, but it comes down to this: 1 2 3 breathe. 1 2 3 breathe. 1 2 3 breathe. I’m by myself, and it’s almost (it never will be) as good as being in a pool. I am glad to be developing this habit.

What brings me to writing this today of all days is the experience I had while running this evening. I planned to run about 3.5 miles and left at about 8pm. Half a mile in, I start to be followed by dogs. This is nothing new. I slow way down, moving quickly enough to account for wearing publicly inappropriate clothing and sweating heavily, but not so much as to aggravate the angry puppies at my ankles. I pick up the pace. 10 minutes later, I have to stop. There is no breeze. It’s 85 degrees and the sun is setting and there should be an evening breeze and there isn’t. I walk a bit then run some more. This pattern of running about 5 minutes only to have to walk a little more continues all the way home. My legs were fine, they felt great. My lungs weren’t hurting and I didn’t have that burning feeling in my chest that happens occasionally (I am not a smoker, but somehow this happens). I had to stop because…

I WAS WARM.

I WAS TOO WARM.

I really just don’t like sweating. It makes me upset and cranky.

This, my dear friends, is why I am not a land-sport-oriented person. I don’t like to sweat. And I can’t throw a ball.