Jen White: I'm running the Tely 10 out of spite

Let me preface this by saying: I don't like running. 

To me, previously, the only time you would catch me bolting at high speeds would be to try to beat the lineup for the chip truck on George Street at closing time.

That's not to say I'm a couch potato. I lead a fairly active lifestyle, with dance classes and working out at the gym.

But why would you just run somewhere? It seemed like a lot of effort (and for me, sweat and even some tears) for little return. What was the point?

My other (and arguably, better) half, Neil, is a big runner, and so are two of my good friends from London, England. So when we started to plan a European vacation together for last October, they decided on including a half-marathon in Portugal.

The Rock 'n' Roll Lisbon Marathon also had a much less daunting 5K run.

"Hey, I can handle that," I thought to myself, not wanting to just hang around the finish line while my friends completed personal goals.

So, I signed up and started to train.

Training

I found a couch-to-5K app that spoke to me called Zombies, Run! — you'd be surprised the motivation that can come from a group of groaning undead gaining speed behind you — and set out on the trails near my house.

Running for me, personally, is one of the hardest things I've ever done. I found within seconds, I'd be fighting with myself just to keep going.

"Jen, why are you doing this?!" I couldn't come up with a good answer. It felt like I was never going to accomplish more than a few minutes at a time; I was defeated and frustrated.

But, I learned to distract myself. "Just get to that next phone pole... Just reach that next crosswalk..." And somehow, it started to get easier.

My first race

I was very nervous when race day came in Lisbon, but I also had a sense of pride for actually committing to the damned thing. 

The race started on a bridge, and when we got off the bus, we were split into two groups: those doing the half-marathon (a.k.a. the real runners), and the 5K folks.

That's when my pride started to wane. I was grouped with the children and grandparents who were inevitably walking the course.

But I stuck to my guns and when the race started, I set my pace. It may have been the slowest 5K ever, but I did it, and I ran the whole way without stopping.

I crossed the finish line and was handed an ice cream. I felt like I'd accomplished so much: slow or not, I'd done it.

I thought that would be the end of my running career.

Foolish thoughts

But Neil proposed on that trip, and all of a sudden, I had a wedding to plan — and better yet, a dress to fit into.

"The Tely 10 ... I could handle that, right?" I asked Neil one night, months later. 

He agreed, without a doubt. He's probably more supportive than he should be, considering how personally torturous I find the sport. 

But I'm fairly stubborn and spiteful, so I decided to take on the biggest physical challenge of my life thus far.

We signed up for another short race together — this time, the Flat Out 5K around Stavanger Drive in April. I foolishly hadn't trained properly, and I walked part of the course, but through all of my complaining, I crossed the finish line.

Actual training

Then I started training for real. I've been running away from my zombies, and working up an extra kilometre every week or so. Finally, it wasn't so hard to convince myself to tie up my laces and get out there.

I'm an "achievable goals" type of person, so with each zombie mission, and with each new kilometre, I felt like I was getting somewhere — with a purpose.

And then I hit the 10K mark. It's the closest I've ever gotten to that elusive "runner's euphoria" where you start to feel like you could run forever — and almost happy about that fact. And imagine, 'nar chip truck in sight at the finish line.

The endorphins were also starting to kick in, and it felt so great to get that run in every other day.

But alas, the Tely 10 is 10 miles, not 10 kilometres. It'll be my longest run and my biggest challenge yet. Can I do it? That will be answered tomorrow.

Maybe I'll treat myself to a plate of fries at the end. Assuming I make it — and that the zombies don't eat me first.