How Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson got me through a run

Here’s to hoping this humors you and makes your week a little bit better. If it doesn’t, it will at the least make you realize that in addition to being a badass, I’m also a weirdo. Or super cool. Whichever. Whatever.

In a year where I’ve already run over 300 miles, including a marathon, I’ve also already lost my distance training. Ya know what they say – “use it or lose it.” It’s true. And it’s not like I’m disappointed by it, I mean… hello, I ran a marathon. But I definitely didn’t think I’d struggle to get back to a 10K just three months later. Again, use it or lose it. I didn’t use it, so I lost it. I mostly didn’t use it because I’m secretly a really hot ninety year old woman who was nursing both hip and back injuries, so again, not disappointed.

As I persist to get back into a routine, I chug along, huffing and puffing, especially in the latter half of whatever distance I’m doing. My heart wants four miles and a donut, my body just wants the donut. Except on yesterday’s run, my heart (okay and maybe my body too), wanted Dwayne Johnson. Yes, The Rock. The People’s Champ. The Brama Bull.

What?

Hear me out. Running is monotonous. Running is long. Running tests all of your strength, both physical and mental. Sometimes to get to your goals, you have to think of weird things, or do boy band dance moves while everyone’s watching, or train yourself to play Words With Friends while keeping pace. Yesterday’s run embodied weird things. Like, how cool would it be if, on this trek of mine, I just randomly ran into The Rock? How would that go? Knowing me, it would start with word vomit and end with a really cheesy selfie where I look terrible and he looks like he hates the girl in the photo with him.

No, no… that’s not what would happen. What would REALLY happen is I’d be like “Yo Dwayne, I know you’re not from Reno so let me show you the course!” I’d give him the preface that I average an 11:30-12/min mile but don’t worry, I’m a marathoner. He’d give me the People’s Eyebrow and I’d assure him that yes, this size 14 curvy fit woman has run not one, but TWO marathons. Feeling confident he wouldn’t have to give me the People’s Elbow, he’d agree to stroll along and we’d become best running pals for life. (Side note, even though I grew up as a huge WWE fan who was in love with The Rock, I still can’t do the People’s Eyebrow.)

Two miles done.

While trying to keep my cool, I’d get consent from DJ to do a Facebook Live because you know, if this was really happening, I would need to make sure the whole internet world knew. My intro would go something like this: “You guys, I was just minding my own runner business when I caught up  with a familiar (literally) figure. Meet my knew BFF who I assure is not going to lay the smackdown on my candy ass.” Then angels would sing and I’d probably drop my phone as I moved the camera upwards to catch his face.

Three miles done.

As we trail along, we’d bond over our love for Kailua and protein shakes and how jealous I am that he got to film a movie with Amy Pond.

Being the social media king he is, Big D would want to put me on his Instagram and tag my running profile and that’s how I’d finally reach 1,000 followers on my Insta.  At the end, we’d high five and I’d introduce him to Pawko who would get to take his first picture with a celebrity.

Voila, four miles — done!

The moral of this story is that I probably don’t need pre-workout.

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When You Know Something Will Suck and It Really Does Suck.

I have officially survived all of my extremely long training runs. An upcoming ten miles sounds like a breeze, but I am terrified of 26.2 of them. Over the weekend, I barely made it to my 20 miler. I cried. I struggled. I hurt. I doubted. I still finished.

On Saturday, I didn’t want to talk about it. On Sunday, I still tried to process it. Today, I am still recovering from it.

I did all the things I needed to do. From stretching, to hip strengthening exercises throughout the week, to good sleep and water, but still, I suffered. But secretly, I had a feeling it would be that way. All week, I wasn’t sure if I was ready to conquer it. And I let that thought in my mind win. My hips felt off balance, my hamstrings were tight, even my upper body felt like it was in suffering. If I didn’t have a friend by my side, I would’ve quit by mile 15. Goddamn the convenience of Uber. No pep talk I gave myself lasted more  than a half mile. No food or beer motivated me enough. But ultimately my heart was too stubborn to be damned not to finish.

Mile 20 was a few steps from my front door. As the door swung open, I fell to my knees. I crawled to my bedroom floor. And I cried. I wallowed. I pitied. I couldn’t even be proud that I finished it because I wasn’t proud of how I finished it. My lower back was on fire. The arches of my feet were numb.

I continued sulking in my sorrow by soaking in my bathtub. I cried when I couldn’t get the faucet to switch from the shower head. All I wanted was to lay in hot water and pity myself. There was a burning question in the back of my mind and as I finally set into the sea of epsom, I asked it – Am I going to be able to do this? What am I going to do on June 3? I don’t know if I’ll be able to do this. Up until now, I was so confident in myself as I knew if I did it once, I could do it again.

Though I didn’t want to talk about it, there were a few friends that forced me into it. Many helped me believe that I should be proud that I did the 20 miles and that they are now in the past. One told me that a bad dress rehearsal means a fantastic opening night. Others didn’t know how much I was hurting inside and out and instead just helped me celebrate.

While I’m not physically ready for the next run, mentally, I need it for my sanity. To prove to myself that I’ve got this. That a bad run is ok. That I’m a bad ass mother fucker who CAN and WILL get to that finish line.