Just Do It (Unless You’re Slow)

Nike has had some great campaigns.  One of my favorites is “If You Let Me Play Sports.”  Recently, I found this ad (Nike+ Men vs. Women TV Ad Featuring Paula Radcliffe & Fernando Torres)  that makes me giggle—at heart I’m still the only sister with three brothers to beat I guess.  To be honest, I don’t wear Nike shoes because they never fit me right.  I do love the Nike+ system though and have been enjoying the special area of their website and joining different challenge groups (like the one featured in the ad above).  What I love about Nike is how they are constantly pushing us to get out there and run.

I recently saw a NYT article called, Plodders Have a Place, but Is It in a Marathon?  This article is the anti-Nike campaign.  In it, there is a lot of whining about how the “fast” runners don’t feel it’s fair to have slow runners in the same race.  Or, certainly shouldn’t be allowed to wear a shirt that says they completed a marathon or have the same medal.  Because if it took you 6 hours to complete it, well, you weren’t really running it now were you?  So, it shouldn’t “count.”  It’s taking the shine off the people that ran it really fast.  So I guess what the writer and those they interview are saying is that they don’t want slow people allowed in the race.  What about the wheelchair division?  They’re not running it either. 

Is that what men were thinking before women were even allowed to race at all?  Were they afraid that if women could compete, could finish, could kick freakin’ ass, then the men wouldn’t be able to strut quite so much?  In 1966 Roberta Gibb was denied entry to the Boston Marathon.  So she hid in the bushes and jumped into the race finishing 3:21:40, and is the unofficial women's winner.  Boston did not officially allow women until 1971.  That’s the same year that NYC allowed women but insisted that there be separate start times with women starting 10 minutes before the men.  In protest, the women SIT DOWN for the first 10 minutes of the race.  Nina Kuscsik wins, but her official time reflects a ten-minute penalty.

I have done a lot of foot races in NYC and enjoyed almost all of them.  One memorable race was a 10K that I did called the Mini Marathon.  I had really hurt my knee and was miserable for pretty much all of it; walking almost constantly.  At one point I saw a woman about my age (30ish) yelling and jumping up and down at the woman about to pass me.  She yelled, “That’s my MOM!!!”  I smiled as the girls mother told her to shush.. she was making a scene.. but the girl kept yelling, “But you’ve never done this before! I’m so proud of you!  Look everyone, that’s my Mom!”  My time?  It was so slow I don’t remember it—my brain has spared my pathetic ego.

For me the races were always for fun or for raising money for breast cancer.  Me and my friends would get together at the start and talk and then run together talking and laughing; never once looking at our watches.  Sheri and I never got to see each other because we live so far apart, but we could always count on each other every September to meet in the city and run for the Komen foundation.

I ran a good deal in high school.  I was a sprinter.  100 meters?  I’m your gal.  200 meters? Sure, why not.  400 meters? Coach, that’s kinda far.  I was much too lazy to be a distance runner.  The cross country coach once stopped me in the hall and said, “C’mon Claudine, you can be the first one to sign up on the roster.  I’ve even got the pencil for you..” and I smiled but politely refused.  But now I’m 42 years old with 3 children, a part time job, too many hobbies, and a house (don’t get me started on my husband) to take care of—I’m  pretty busy.  But a friend, oh let’s just say it, Pernille, coaxed me to do the Disney Half-Marathon in January.  It must have been during one of her dinner parties where every time you turn around another drink is getting shoved in your face—because here I find myself with an official entry form into the Disney Half.

The last time I ran in NYC was a very hot August day and I was miserable.  I realized later that I was newly pregnant with my middle son Max.  Two years later, I was pregnant again with my third, Annabelle.  It’s been 7 years since I’ve run farther than from my car to the kitchen door on a rainy day.  I bought some sneakers this summer, the Nike+, IPod, and started running my fairly hilly neighborhood.  My initial pace was in the 14 min/mile range.  My pace and stamina has dramatically improved with constant, steady running (and cooler temps definitely helps).  But this article in the Times really made me angry.  Like my mother in law said,  it took the wind out of my sails.  No, I do not run a 7 minute mile.  I could probably do an 8 minute mile—but there would be just the one and then I’d need a stretcher.  I did a couple of 9 minute miles when the skies opened up on me recently and I was desperate to save my phone and iPod.  But my comfy place is in the 11 to 12 range.  At that pace I can look around at my neighbors gardens. I can tell the driver who has pulled up beside me how to get to the beach.  I can answer the walker asking where I got the cool pink headphones.  I can notice the awesome easel someone has put on the curb that my kids will love.  And of course, I can answer the many phone calls from my kids asking how much longer will it be before I get home, if they can have an ice cream sandwich, and if I can tell Daddy to let them ride their bikes around the neighborhood.

Quick—who won the NYC marathon last year?  Need more time?  G’head.. I’ll give you time to Google it.  If it weren’t for the thousands of regular runners, joggers, plodders, and walkers signing up and paying the fees and tshirts for these races there wouldn’t be such nice prizes for the fast guys either.  Listen, unless you’re a professional runner, it doesn’t matter what time you finish the race because no one really cares but you.    You just have to finish it.

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History of Women's Distance Running