Penguin Power

I learned today that there is a name for people like me.

Wait, wait, wait. Before words like Whack-Job, Hoarder and Procrastinator start rolling off your tongue, I'll just tell you...

Penguin.

Penguin? Yes. Penguin.

In the running lexicon, the word "Penguin" has come to mean a person who runs more for the joy of running than for recognition or public reward (though we love a fluke medal now and then). These are people who don't have the need for speed. We don't necessarily waddle like a Penguin, but we aren't flying either. And somehow we are OK with that.

I was just relieved to know there are other people out there just like me. Including John Bingham, who encourages runners like me to embrace our inner Penguin. Once an overweight couch potato with a glut of bad habits, including smoking and drinking, at the age of 43 (my age), Bingham looked midlife in the face and started running. Since then he has completed 40 marathons, hundreds of 5K and 10K races and developed a whole new outlook.

I can see how that happens.

As much as I absolutely hated running or anything resembling it in high school, in the past 5 years, I've come to love it. I have never been much of an athlete. I am still a runner hiding in the body of a shot putter (no offense, fellow field event participants) -- but now I feel like an athlete. For the first time.

On Sunday, I don't expect any great finishing time. My goal is just to finish. To say: "I ran a half-marathon!" I would like to complete it in less than 2 1/2 hours, but if I don't, I still can cross the finish line and say: "I ran a half-marathon!"

This is a bit crazy. I wouldn't have dreamed this 25 years ago or 5 years ago... or even a year ago for that matter. But somehow this old lady finds herself 34 hours away from the starting gun.

Bingham sums it up best with this quote: "The miracle isn't that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start."

It is kind of scary. Especially right now when there's no turning back. Tomorrow afternoon my "half" sister and I will head to the Fox Cities, pick up our race packets and timing chips and gradually replace our nerves with excitement.

And I'll go to bed in the hotel room embracing my inner Penguin.

Seriously, did you doubt I was a Penguin? It certainly explains my love for ICE cream!