All good runners know that...
…talking while running builds lung capacity. I ran the Katy Trail every day in college, always solo, always silent, and the cross-country girls would breeze past me chattering at (literally) a mile a minute. How did they keep that pace and cover all their gossip points at the same time? I marveled. But since I never ran with anyone, I never learned the secret.
One Christmas morning I ran my first twenty-miler and last long run before the Houston Marathon. This was 2004 B.I. (before iPod), and my AM/FM armband radio ran out of juice halfway in. Ten miles away from my parents’ home, I panicked. How in hell would I make it all the way back, listening to nothing but my footfalls, without going completely crazy? The squirrels began to tap dance. Buzzards hovered, smelling my impending doom. I had no choice, then, but to start talking.
How much polite conversation can one enjoy with oneself, especially while one is sloughing through ten miserable miles all by her lonesome while the rest of the world eats bacon and picks through holiday detritus and slow dances in their pajamas to Dean Martin carols? Not much, I discovered. I had no choice, then, but to start singing.
(Almost) four marathons later I still sing while I run. I figure that to the lazy public watching me cruise by their lawn chairs, my insanity is already cemented (I am running, after all, and at no leisurely pace). Why not confirm their worst fears by singing? “You know the type, loud as a motorbike, but wouldn’t bust a grape in a fruit fight.” That’s a favorite. I often run after dark; not seeing my audience alleviates stage fright. I know my limits: I keep the volume low and the voice alto. And now when Kate and I hit the trail together, I can match her word for word until the gossip runs out.
