Cha Cha Living: Hate Running? Love Shoes? Read this….

I hate running. No, I don’t. I REALLY dislike running.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the effects after running. The feeling of accomplishment…the runner’s high…the caloric burn. All of that is great. But what I hate (or extremely dislike) is all the in-between.

There are those people that genuinely love running. I am not sure if it is innate in their bones, or a love that has grown over time. I truly wish I could inherit of learn to love this sport, but it escapes my hold.

Running is good for you - take a look at the cardiovascular benefits and damn, the calorie burn is like no other. But, what if that isn’t enough to motivate you…and you need more. It all comes back to shoes, doesn’t it? Shoes really can save the world’s problems, and particularly this lack of love to run.

“How can shoes be my running savior?” you ask. Let me explain.

Sure, I love to exercise. I’ll try anything once - yoga, mud-runs, barre, pilates, SUP, surfing, rowing, cycling - none of those intimate me. But running….it’s just running. No words can really describe the intimidation and dislike I have for running. But I do it, with the help of shoes.

There are few things that can get me over runners block, thank goodness for shoes.

About six months ago, a friend of mine had the bright idea to run a half marathon. “Just think,” she mused, “this January half marathon will force us to get in shape over the holidays.”

It wasn’t an entirely bad idea. I had succumbed to many holidays where substituting workouts with eggnog and swedish meatballs were common place. And the fallout was not good.

“So, a half marathon,” I thought. “I can do this. 13.1 miles? No problem.”

But I needed something other than the impeding onslaught of 10 holiday pounds to get me motivated. “New running shoes,” I thought. That will help.

So I proceeded to scour my favorite running stores websites to find the perfect pair of running shoes. Fit, arch support, width - those were secondary to my love of fashion. I decided pink, as I wanted those shoes to be visible as I took each stride. And, low and behold, I can across Nike’s website, where I could design my own shoes (read about running shoe design here).

Hot pink laces, check. Animal print upper, check. A bit of teal accessories, check check. And on my way to checkout, I had the option to personalize my shoes. “What to write,” I thought. It wasn’t as permanent as a tattoo, yet I couldn’t decide on a saying.

“I have an idea,” a friend said. “What about Happy Pace? You know, it’s your little happy place while running. Your happy pace,” she exclaimed.

I never thought of running as a happy place, yet I had no better ideas, and so it was.

Once the shoes arrived, I began my training schedule with my new fancy shoes. I have to admit, I was hoping for for increased speed, motivation, something. But they felt like any other pair of running shoes.

And so the training began. And, to be honest, the training had some undisciplined moments. No, I didn’t fall off the horse into eggnog and swedish meatballs, but it was just hard to find time to run during the holidays. As the January 19th race date approached, my anxiety grew.

I did a couple of longer runs, hating each moment of the run. I even asked a good friend how he managed to have a “love to run.”

“Jenny,” he told me. “Get your mind out of it. Enjoy it. Stop thinking so much.”

But I had a horrible practice run, and the blisters and sore joints were nagging in my mind.

“Think positive,” he told me.

As I was bent over after the run, my shoes were starting straight at me. “Happy pace. Happy pace,” they whispered. Were they mocking me? There was no #$!@@@ pace that had just ensued. And at that point, I knew that inspiration background music should be playing on my iPod, and that that “ah ha” moment would come to me. As the sweat dripped into my eyes, tears of pain (from the salt and body) came out.

The race was a week later - long enough for my body to recover, and for the running anxiety to build. The shoes sat out all week, reminding me of the long run to come, and the unreliable saying I had imprinted on the shoes. Maybe I should have done, “this sucks” on the shoes. Or, “pray - for me.” Or, “my friend signed me up for this race at a moment of weakness.” But that wouldn’t fit on the shoes.

As race day approached, the shoes began to be a source of comfort. Sure, my toes would blister, and my arches ache, but those shoes would take me the entire 13.1 miles, and even as that saying mocked me, it started to inspire me.

What was my happy pace? The race began, and there was no going back. I don’t know if it was the spectators, bands, other runners, or my fancy shoes, but I was finding my happy pace.

As the miles passed, my feet began to ache, hamstrings tighten, and passion dwindle. At mile 11, I stopped to stretch and came face to face with my shoes. I don’t know if it was adrenaline, love of pink laces, or that damn saying, but I began to love running.

As I crossed the finish line, I wondered what the other runners used as their source of motivation. Family members, health, competition - it didn’t matter, each person had their own inspiration.