The following is the story of how yours truly learned how the worst run of her life became the best thing to ever happen to her. (Except that time she discovered that running tights are the most comfortable item of clothing she owns.)
Several weeks ago I seriously decided to train for a 1/2 marathon. I seriously decided against it several times after that (mainly around the 8K mark of a 10K race), but signed up for a clinic anyway, which started this past Tuesday.
Tuesday night rolled around. Lovely women of all ages and sizes gathered (oh who are we kidding, we're all young and fit), and set off on a 4K run. Within 1K I was falling behind the pack. Half a block. A block. Two blocks. Up to the panicked where the hell did they go?! stage.
Michael, one of our clinic leaders jogged back (and back and back) until he reached me and asked why we were so far behind. Several sarcastic thoughts swirled around my head like "um, they're running faster that us, like duh buddy." Until he said "they're running the same pace as us."
Dang.
As my feet smacked the pavement, Michael asked me to run ahead of him. As flattering as I thought that was that he wanted to check out my butt, I was crestfallen to learn he was actually studying about one inch down. "Do you know you don't use your hamstrings? Like, at all?"
Oh. Is that... bad?
Apparently so. Hamstrings are those muscles on the back of your thighs. The ones that are supposed to do 50% of the work when you run. Mine have been on permanent vacation (TM Aerosmith). Michael explained that once we fix this tiny little error, my running will vastly improve and I might actually make it 21K without hailing a cab to the finish line. And I might actually not be too shabby of a runner.
That is, once I do these daily exercises to "engage" them, learn to breath properly, loosen up my entire upper body and (I quote) "stop being all up here"- pointing at brain.
So. Should you see a woman running down the street like Pheobe in Friends (arms flailing, legs sprawled all over), hopping like a kangaroo, chanting some sort of postive mantra all which breathing deeply, don't call the men in white coats. I'm supposed to look like that.
Stupid hamstrings.
