running with santa

Our leader wears a Santa hat. His assistant, also in Santa hat, carries clip board and pen. 109 people signed up; there are about 25 or 30 of us here, freezing our asses off, waiting to get started. Mrs. Santa collects dues, gives us name tags, and checks people off the list. I start talking to the woman next to me. She looks bored and lonely. Turns out she is just too cool. Well, that's how she's playing it off anyway. She just moved from LA and really likes yoga better than running. She doesn't ask any questions in response to mine. As she talks, she leans slightly to the side, one leg crossed over the other; one arm hangs down, the other across her body with hand clenching one arm at elbow. She looks off into the distance--on the ground a few feet in front of herself. Odd.


We begin with a mile and a half warm-up: one loop around JKO reservoir in Central Park. Since I am the slowest one, I have to go the opposite direction from the rest of the group and then turn around when we meet. This is not a good start, I think. I feel like the last kid picked for kickball. I know that feeling well and while not my very least favorite feeling, it comes close. What the hell? I always tell my students that feeling lost, confused, and out-of-place is part of the territory when it comes to growth. Here goes.


After our warm up, we do some long, slow, downhill intervals. I am at the back but not by too far. About half the group is way ahead and the other half is just ahead. Uphill sprints follow, which sound awful, but they are short, and broken up by recovery time. Between sprints, Santa lectures us on form. He comments on how we should swing our arms versus how we are swinging our arms. He points out that women tend to run with a dainty, bouncy, stride. He wants us to run like we're the hero in a movie. Feminine running, he repeats, won't save the girl at the end--or the guy.


I look around to see if this mortifies anyone else. The woman next to me (she just did the NYC marathon in four hours) mutters something about élite woman runners. A few other people smile and shake their heads. All I can do is laugh. I guess I understand what he means to convey in spite of the stereotyping and over-generalizations. For some reason, it's OK as long as the group isn't buying it.


I feel pretty good during the sprints because I'm in the middle of the group. Silly, but it's something.