High Altitude Training :: Running Athletes Essays

High Altitude Training For the first mile of my daily run the cows are with me. They seem out of place along this road that winds through mountain pines, but in Arizona cows are everywhere, even at 7,000 feet. They watch incredulously with soft eyes as I run by. They stand as still as statues and only their heads move, slowly and almost imperceptibly, like the heads in paintings of long-dead relatives that gaze right at you, no matter where you stand in the room. I cant tell if they approve of all this running activity they are silent. No matter how far-off I decide to run each day, running that first mile is the hardest. I feel the same niggling pain under my ribs each time, and admire how overnight I forgot how to run. Each day I tell myself that I must be going about this running thing all wrong. My topographic point are old and probably not the right sort of shoes at all. Im wearing cotton socks. I expect at any moment a van, driven by a member of t he International Federation of Runners, go forth pull up beside me. A fleet of pat runners wearing custom made running shoes and synthetic socks will long-legs out of the back of the van and issue a citation. Or they will grab me and drive off with a screech of tires, taking me to an interrogation room where they will seat me under a bare bulb and ask, precisely who do you think your are? I look around uneasily. No vans. No running police. I guess I will have to forestall running. I smirk at the cows, glad that Im faster than someone. I came upon running by accident, when I was digging through a pile of magazines at my local used bookstore. I pulled out a copy of a running magazine that had a picture of a beautiful womanhood on it, a woman with a blond ponytail. She looked happy and carefree. I wanted to be her. My friend Ellyn looked over my shoulder and said casually, Oh, Suzy Favor.