Every single day, every single run is an adventure. Running outside just has too many variables; it is completely uncontrolled. And even suburbia can get a little wild. Just take Charlie, for instance. This results in fear, profanity, injuries, unwelcome neighborly encounters, and so much more. But, I've tried running on a treadmill. I really gave it my best. I put my little towel over the stupid informational panel and chugged away like an athlete. And I hated it. I kept lifting up my towel every quarter mile. Also, it's too easy to just get off and go next door for frozen yogurt. I write from exeprience.
Truth be told, I just like doing it outside. I said it. I prefer to do it in the great wide open. Even though everyone can see me in all my glory. Feral animals may chase me. I may run into trash cans and be forced into awkward neighborly conversations. But this is how I like to do it. I'm owning it. And if you need to avert your gaze, that's fine. In fact, I prefer it. I like doing it outside, but I don't need you all watching.
Anyway, today my legs were sore, and I was going slow. A distant neighbor was outside and yelled, "Everyone is going for a walk today, huh?" And I wish he hadn't used that word. You know: walk. I am NOT walking out there (you know, like a good half of the time). Or at least I wasn't intending to at this moment. Sure I was slogging along. But I think you could tell I wasn't attempting to walk. Probably. Thus, I replied "THIS... IS... NOT... WALKING...." And I don't know exactly how I looked or sounded at that moment. But he looked very puzzled and shook his head. I probably would've fired back with something obscene and witty. But my legs were killing me, I was almost home, and also almost out of breath. Because I was RUNNING. He was lucky. Just wait until I'm better at this and I'm able to run AND offend at the same time. That'll be the day. It's good to have goals.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Monday, January 21, 2013
Beware of Shiny Objects... and Charlie
I was pretty proud this morning. Instead of sitting around dreading having to run three miles today, I just got dressed and did it. Is this progress? Or is this caffeine? Who knows.
For some reason my calves were killing me today. My breathing was great. Everything felt fine. But my calves were going rogue on me and deciding I could just run without them. Not bloody likely, calves. I kept hoping they'd jump on the bandwagon eventually; they started cramping at about 2.5 miles. My body's individual parts are just as stubborn as their owner, apparently. Also, a muscle cramp will make you contort yourself into crazy shapes in the middle of the road. I felt as though I should bring a hat and set it on the ground in front of me during those moments; I think I could collect a fair amount of tips during my performance.
I finally got my legs under control and started to run home, trying to finish big. My time today was a little slower than usual, and I was trying to bring my average up on the last push. Then I saw something shiny; a pink iPod shuffle was just lying in the middle of the street. I stood there, thinking about what to do. Ruining my time. Over a shiny object. Should I try to find the owner? It looked pretty banged up. Maybe the universe was giving me a present for running. Maybe it doesn't even work.
In my moment of distraction I heard barking, which is nothing new. All the neighborhood dogs bark at the passing runners. It really is just background noise at this point. But this barking grew closer. I turned around and saw this tiny, hairy dog barreling towards me, planning to probably eat me. The owner was chasing it yelling, "Charlie! Charlie!" Charlie?! Charlie was trying to eat me. I am thinking Spike or Jaws would be more apropos. Charlie sounds like we should enjoy a cup of tea together. This was not a Charlie. This was a bloodthirsty animal trying to take advantage of my "oooohhh, something shiny" moment.
I decided in the wild I'd probably be eaten rather quickly. My instincts took a minute to kick in. However, I finally began to run for my life, pink iPod in hand, Charlie not close behind. I was trying to yell something, but I was a little short of breath. It came out, "Why... leash.... Charlie... Help... Tired." Something like that. Soon Charlie gave up pursuit and returned to his owner, still growling at me. The owner was apologizing, but at that point I was just ready to get home.
On that note, everyone should use a leash. Even if you're dog has a friendly name like Charlie. And if anyone lost a pink iPod in my neighborhood, you're welcome to have it back. But beware of Charlie on your way.
For some reason my calves were killing me today. My breathing was great. Everything felt fine. But my calves were going rogue on me and deciding I could just run without them. Not bloody likely, calves. I kept hoping they'd jump on the bandwagon eventually; they started cramping at about 2.5 miles. My body's individual parts are just as stubborn as their owner, apparently. Also, a muscle cramp will make you contort yourself into crazy shapes in the middle of the road. I felt as though I should bring a hat and set it on the ground in front of me during those moments; I think I could collect a fair amount of tips during my performance.
I finally got my legs under control and started to run home, trying to finish big. My time today was a little slower than usual, and I was trying to bring my average up on the last push. Then I saw something shiny; a pink iPod shuffle was just lying in the middle of the street. I stood there, thinking about what to do. Ruining my time. Over a shiny object. Should I try to find the owner? It looked pretty banged up. Maybe the universe was giving me a present for running. Maybe it doesn't even work.
In my moment of distraction I heard barking, which is nothing new. All the neighborhood dogs bark at the passing runners. It really is just background noise at this point. But this barking grew closer. I turned around and saw this tiny, hairy dog barreling towards me, planning to probably eat me. The owner was chasing it yelling, "Charlie! Charlie!" Charlie?! Charlie was trying to eat me. I am thinking Spike or Jaws would be more apropos. Charlie sounds like we should enjoy a cup of tea together. This was not a Charlie. This was a bloodthirsty animal trying to take advantage of my "oooohhh, something shiny" moment.
I decided in the wild I'd probably be eaten rather quickly. My instincts took a minute to kick in. However, I finally began to run for my life, pink iPod in hand, Charlie not close behind. I was trying to yell something, but I was a little short of breath. It came out, "Why... leash.... Charlie... Help... Tired." Something like that. Soon Charlie gave up pursuit and returned to his owner, still growling at me. The owner was apologizing, but at that point I was just ready to get home.
On that note, everyone should use a leash. Even if you're dog has a friendly name like Charlie. And if anyone lost a pink iPod in my neighborhood, you're welcome to have it back. But beware of Charlie on your way.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Karma
Even though I was exhausted when I got home, I laced up. I was a little nervous. I needed this run to happen after my prior curbside breakdown. I felt like I had something to prove. So I stuffed my boobs into boob jail and went for a run even though it was dark. I figured fear would probably motivate me past any existential breakdowns mid-run.
It was just a two mile run, and I started off pretty fast. After my half-mile point I felt vindicated when I didn't sit down and contemplate ordering pizza. My pace wasn't ideal, but it wasn't my worst. I felt a little wonky at about a mile and stopped to walk briefly. And then I threw up all over the pavement. I think jiggling around all my innards is just a lot for my digestive tract. And, admittedly, I didn't eat the healthiest lunch.
After the great pavement purge I picked back up and felt mediocre. I mean, I was running. So, I didn't feel great. But I've felt worse. I turned around to head back home and it was pretty dark at this point. I was looking up at the stars thinking to myself, "No, Coldplay. You are so wrong. They aren't yellow AT ALL. They're like... white. White stars, Coldplay. Way to go, Chris Martin. Way. To Go." And while I was arguing with Coldplay in my mind I stepped in goo. I stopped in the dark and held my phone up to the goo trying to figure out if I had stepped in roadkill. Because that wouldn't be cool. I am not okay with guts on my shoe. But, no. It was my own vomit. Running back home I ran through my own vomit while arguing with Chris Martin in my head.
I think I made a disgusted face the rest of the way home. I had to hose off my shoe and just leave them out front. I think this is what karma is. What goes around coming back around. Just in the form of vomit. Vomit karma.
It's alright. I need new shoes, anyway. I secretly blame Chris Martin. If he reads this, which he totally does, he should send me new shoes. And change the name of his song to "White."
It was just a two mile run, and I started off pretty fast. After my half-mile point I felt vindicated when I didn't sit down and contemplate ordering pizza. My pace wasn't ideal, but it wasn't my worst. I felt a little wonky at about a mile and stopped to walk briefly. And then I threw up all over the pavement. I think jiggling around all my innards is just a lot for my digestive tract. And, admittedly, I didn't eat the healthiest lunch.
After the great pavement purge I picked back up and felt mediocre. I mean, I was running. So, I didn't feel great. But I've felt worse. I turned around to head back home and it was pretty dark at this point. I was looking up at the stars thinking to myself, "No, Coldplay. You are so wrong. They aren't yellow AT ALL. They're like... white. White stars, Coldplay. Way to go, Chris Martin. Way. To Go." And while I was arguing with Coldplay in my mind I stepped in goo. I stopped in the dark and held my phone up to the goo trying to figure out if I had stepped in roadkill. Because that wouldn't be cool. I am not okay with guts on my shoe. But, no. It was my own vomit. Running back home I ran through my own vomit while arguing with Chris Martin in my head.
I think I made a disgusted face the rest of the way home. I had to hose off my shoe and just leave them out front. I think this is what karma is. What goes around coming back around. Just in the form of vomit. Vomit karma.
It's alright. I need new shoes, anyway. I secretly blame Chris Martin. If he reads this, which he totally does, he should send me new shoes. And change the name of his song to "White."
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Not Tonight, Buffalo Bill
I honestly didn't want to write this post. But I think it has to be done. So here it goes. Today? I quit. I mean, not training completely. But I quit halfway through my run.
I started work this week, and everything has fallen apart. And it's only Tuesday. I didn't run yesterday, and I barely slept because I was working on... well, work. I also didn't really eat today. I just kept drinking coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. Probably I am keeping Starbucks in business this week. My barista knows my order. Maybe I have a problem.
Anyway, I got home today at dusk and knew I had to run. I already missed yesterday. No excuses, self. There's a medal at stake. I quickly got dressed and went outside. (Mind you, it's freezing cold. At least for southern California.)
The first song that came on my playlist was "Do it With a Rockstar" by Amanda Palmer. Which is a GREAT song. However, today I noticed she asks over and over, "Do you want to go back home?"And all I could think was, "YES. I DO. WHY IS IT THIS COLD? HOW FAR HAVE I GONE?" (I totally was thinking in caps-lock.) My legs started hurting. My side started hurting. My nose WOULD HAVE run, but it was so cold it all froze. Into some sort of snot-cicle. Or just really cold snot. Either way. My shirt didn't feel right. The street lights came on. And then I realized I had only gone half a mile. Just. Half. A. Mile.
And in that moment it felt right to sit on the curb and feel sorry for myself. Why would I even do this? Half a mile? I suck at running. This whole thing is torture. No way can I make it 13.1 miles. How did I ever do it before? Is there ANYONE that could come pick me up and drive me back the HALF MILE home? Because my whole body hurt. And I was tired. And then maybe that person could bring pizza and beer. Maybe I could just order pizza. And HE'D drive me home. Do they deliver beer?
It was a grand pity party. But then it happened... It got dark. And suddenly every single approaching pair of headlights was Buffalo Bill in his crazy murder van trying to catch me and turn me into his creepy lady-suit. And I realized not only was it freezing, but my irrational "Silence of the Lambs" based phobia was way worse than whatever personal issue I was having with running. And I quickly ran home. In record time.
And when I got home, I realized it's fine. I can't run a half-marathon yet. That's why I am training. I am going to trust the process. And maybe try to eat and sleep before running. My two mile run became a one mile runwalkpitypartysprint. No big. I'm going to stop working for the night, eat dinner, and watch Downton Abbey. Because Matthew Crawley makes everything all better. There's not ALWAYS tomorrow. But, statistically speaking, I have a pretty good shot at having a tomorrow. Stay tuned.
I started work this week, and everything has fallen apart. And it's only Tuesday. I didn't run yesterday, and I barely slept because I was working on... well, work. I also didn't really eat today. I just kept drinking coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. Probably I am keeping Starbucks in business this week. My barista knows my order. Maybe I have a problem.
Anyway, I got home today at dusk and knew I had to run. I already missed yesterday. No excuses, self. There's a medal at stake. I quickly got dressed and went outside. (Mind you, it's freezing cold. At least for southern California.)
The first song that came on my playlist was "Do it With a Rockstar" by Amanda Palmer. Which is a GREAT song. However, today I noticed she asks over and over, "Do you want to go back home?"And all I could think was, "YES. I DO. WHY IS IT THIS COLD? HOW FAR HAVE I GONE?" (I totally was thinking in caps-lock.) My legs started hurting. My side started hurting. My nose WOULD HAVE run, but it was so cold it all froze. Into some sort of snot-cicle. Or just really cold snot. Either way. My shirt didn't feel right. The street lights came on. And then I realized I had only gone half a mile. Just. Half. A. Mile.
And in that moment it felt right to sit on the curb and feel sorry for myself. Why would I even do this? Half a mile? I suck at running. This whole thing is torture. No way can I make it 13.1 miles. How did I ever do it before? Is there ANYONE that could come pick me up and drive me back the HALF MILE home? Because my whole body hurt. And I was tired. And then maybe that person could bring pizza and beer. Maybe I could just order pizza. And HE'D drive me home. Do they deliver beer?
It was a grand pity party. But then it happened... It got dark. And suddenly every single approaching pair of headlights was Buffalo Bill in his crazy murder van trying to catch me and turn me into his creepy lady-suit. And I realized not only was it freezing, but my irrational "Silence of the Lambs" based phobia was way worse than whatever personal issue I was having with running. And I quickly ran home. In record time.
And when I got home, I realized it's fine. I can't run a half-marathon yet. That's why I am training. I am going to trust the process. And maybe try to eat and sleep before running. My two mile run became a one mile runwalkpitypartysprint. No big. I'm going to stop working for the night, eat dinner, and watch Downton Abbey. Because Matthew Crawley makes everything all better. There's not ALWAYS tomorrow. But, statistically speaking, I have a pretty good shot at having a tomorrow. Stay tuned.
Saturday, January 12, 2013
And then I Almost Died
There was really no getting out of it today. It was distance run day. And this early in my training, that distance was JUST three miles. It sounds so small, doesn't it? Three? I spent a lot of time sitting around this morning thinking about how I didn't want to do it. And then I slogged into my room, slowly geared up, and sighed as I decided to just get it over with. Three sounds so small. I'd just get it over quickly, and get on with my day.
Running is as much of a mind game as it is a physical sport. At only a quarter mile in I get bored, start calculating how much longer I have to go, start thinking about everything else I could be doing (like anything OTHER than running). Pretty soon I'm fully in my own world, my little Jen bubble that I retract into in order to survive. I'm talking myself around each bend, telling my legs that if they get me through this I promise I'll let them wear pajamas the entire rest of the day.
I took a new route today, and as I hit 1 mile I ran past a park. And I was thirsty. I decided to take the hit in my time (because it is so fast, right?) and grab water at the fountain quickly. As I was drinking I felt it. That feeling you get when someone is staring at you. I'm only half present, already red-faced and exhausted. I lift my head up and it isn't just ONE someone staring; it's a whole birthday party. Because I am standing on a bouncy house laid out to be blown up. And 20 or more kids are staring at me, open-mouthed, confused. No one really knew what to say, probably because I looked scary, chubby, and feral. My first reaction SHOULD have been to move and carry on. However, I couldn't help but notice the cake. It was HUGE! I thought about holding that bouncy house hostage until I got a piece to go, but then I realized it'd be difficult to eat whilst running. And, it might be a tad counterproductive. At this point, after causing a minor scene, I quickly left. Without cake. Whatevs.
After the break it took a bit to get back into my zone, get my momentum back. And as soon as I did, I rounded the corner and stared up at a giant ass hill. Giant. Ass. Hill. Seriously. I thought about turning around and going back for cake. But I didn't; I teared up a little, and started up the hill, muttering every profane word I could think of in that moment. That hill was big for no reason; I saw no purpose to that hill other than to torment me. Really, housing tract designers? Random giant hills? Great. And then it happened: I almost died.
I was running EXTREMELY slow up the terrible hill when a car began backing out of a driveway. I stopped on the street to wait for the car to back out. Then the car stopped, and where I come from, this was the car's way of saying, "Go ahead, chubby kid. Run along. I can wait." So I gave my friendly little wave, and took off again running. However, that car and I had some sort of miscommunication, because right at that moment the driver began to reverse quickly. Into me. I screamed and started to run away from the car quickly, imagining how painful it was going to be to be run over. My life didn't flash before my eyes, contrary to popular opinion. I only thought of two things: 1. Great, I'm going to die running. And 2. I should've had some damn cake.
My girly screaming must've caught the driver's attention, as she quickly hit the brakes about an inch away from me. I quickly started running away, when the driver (an elderly woman) slowly pulled up next to me to apologize.
Driver: "I'm really sorry! I almost hit you! Are you okay?"
Me: "I... Well... Yeah. I mean, Yeah."
Driver: "I am so sorry. I can't believe it!"
Me: "I mean, I guess you would've been doing me a favor. Now I have to finish running up this hill."
Driver: "Is there anything I can do? Do you need a ride?"
Was she crazy? I was NOT getting in that car.
Me: "No, I'm okay. I'll be fine."
Driver: "Is there anything I can do?"
Me: "No. I mean, Hallmark probably doesn't make a card for this. Maybe a fruit basket. Or cake."
Driver: "Huh?"
Me: "Right. Well, bye."
I mean, a fruit basket would have been fine. But I wasn't going to press the issue. I just wanted to get home at that point.
The good news? Almost dying helps your mile time. The second half of my run I went noticeably faster. And was slightly more aware of my surroundings. If you're not careful, you can accidentally crash parties or even die. Running books don't tell you that. You're welcome.
Running is as much of a mind game as it is a physical sport. At only a quarter mile in I get bored, start calculating how much longer I have to go, start thinking about everything else I could be doing (like anything OTHER than running). Pretty soon I'm fully in my own world, my little Jen bubble that I retract into in order to survive. I'm talking myself around each bend, telling my legs that if they get me through this I promise I'll let them wear pajamas the entire rest of the day.
I took a new route today, and as I hit 1 mile I ran past a park. And I was thirsty. I decided to take the hit in my time (because it is so fast, right?) and grab water at the fountain quickly. As I was drinking I felt it. That feeling you get when someone is staring at you. I'm only half present, already red-faced and exhausted. I lift my head up and it isn't just ONE someone staring; it's a whole birthday party. Because I am standing on a bouncy house laid out to be blown up. And 20 or more kids are staring at me, open-mouthed, confused. No one really knew what to say, probably because I looked scary, chubby, and feral. My first reaction SHOULD have been to move and carry on. However, I couldn't help but notice the cake. It was HUGE! I thought about holding that bouncy house hostage until I got a piece to go, but then I realized it'd be difficult to eat whilst running. And, it might be a tad counterproductive. At this point, after causing a minor scene, I quickly left. Without cake. Whatevs.
After the break it took a bit to get back into my zone, get my momentum back. And as soon as I did, I rounded the corner and stared up at a giant ass hill. Giant. Ass. Hill. Seriously. I thought about turning around and going back for cake. But I didn't; I teared up a little, and started up the hill, muttering every profane word I could think of in that moment. That hill was big for no reason; I saw no purpose to that hill other than to torment me. Really, housing tract designers? Random giant hills? Great. And then it happened: I almost died.
I was running EXTREMELY slow up the terrible hill when a car began backing out of a driveway. I stopped on the street to wait for the car to back out. Then the car stopped, and where I come from, this was the car's way of saying, "Go ahead, chubby kid. Run along. I can wait." So I gave my friendly little wave, and took off again running. However, that car and I had some sort of miscommunication, because right at that moment the driver began to reverse quickly. Into me. I screamed and started to run away from the car quickly, imagining how painful it was going to be to be run over. My life didn't flash before my eyes, contrary to popular opinion. I only thought of two things: 1. Great, I'm going to die running. And 2. I should've had some damn cake.
My girly screaming must've caught the driver's attention, as she quickly hit the brakes about an inch away from me. I quickly started running away, when the driver (an elderly woman) slowly pulled up next to me to apologize.
Driver: "I'm really sorry! I almost hit you! Are you okay?"
Me: "I... Well... Yeah. I mean, Yeah."
Driver: "I am so sorry. I can't believe it!"
Me: "I mean, I guess you would've been doing me a favor. Now I have to finish running up this hill."
Driver: "Is there anything I can do? Do you need a ride?"
Was she crazy? I was NOT getting in that car.
Me: "No, I'm okay. I'll be fine."
Driver: "Is there anything I can do?"
Me: "No. I mean, Hallmark probably doesn't make a card for this. Maybe a fruit basket. Or cake."
Driver: "Huh?"
Me: "Right. Well, bye."
I mean, a fruit basket would have been fine. But I wasn't going to press the issue. I just wanted to get home at that point.
The good news? Almost dying helps your mile time. The second half of my run I went noticeably faster. And was slightly more aware of my surroundings. If you're not careful, you can accidentally crash parties or even die. Running books don't tell you that. You're welcome.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Blame it on the Rain
I was going to run two miles this morning. I had my shoes set out and everything. But then I woke up and it was freezing. And windy. And there was even some rain. So, I did the logical thing: I went to Starbucks instead.
I was trying to make justifications for my change in plans. I can just do it tomorrow. Flexibility is important. Rest days are super important. Switching up the schedule isn't that big of a deal. I even PARKED and WALKED INTO the damn Starbucks instead of using the drive-thru. Cross-training! That's dedication, people. I am NOT a fan of the cold.
But then I realized I don't really need excuses. I didn't run today. I went to Starbucks instead. Because I felt like it. Tomorrow I will feel like catching up. Because I feel like sticking with this and getting my medal.
But today? This coffee is delicious. I'm going to sip it as I stare out my window at all the much more dedicated runners slogging through the rain.
I was trying to make justifications for my change in plans. I can just do it tomorrow. Flexibility is important. Rest days are super important. Switching up the schedule isn't that big of a deal. I even PARKED and WALKED INTO the damn Starbucks instead of using the drive-thru. Cross-training! That's dedication, people. I am NOT a fan of the cold.
But then I realized I don't really need excuses. I didn't run today. I went to Starbucks instead. Because I felt like it. Tomorrow I will feel like catching up. Because I feel like sticking with this and getting my medal.
But today? This coffee is delicious. I'm going to sip it as I stare out my window at all the much more dedicated runners slogging through the rain.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Passing on the Left
I didn't expect much from my two mile runwalklimp today. I'm still adjusting. If I lived through it, I'd consider myself pretty damn accomplished for the entire day. And I planned to cross-train by going to Target. And for those of you that don't think Target is cross-training? Get out. I mean, just kidding. Come back.
I decided to not demonize walking. Walking happens, man. Sometimes you just gotta. But I'm trying to run (know I use that word loosely) as much as possible. However, I get passed a freaking ton. I try to not notice, but it's hard when I'm ambling around and someone zooms past as though this shit were easy peasy lemon squeezy. It's not. If it were, I wouldn't consider crying and quitting every two minutes. Whatever. Pass away, yo. At least I'm not on the curb crying when you do it, because that's what I'd like to do. At least most of the time. But I keep going... Because, well, Target.
However, today *I* got to pass someone. That's right. Me. On day 2, I'm already passing someone. I mean, he was mowing his lawn. And not actually running. He was pushing a lawn-mower. And wasn't even near the street where I was running. Maybe he didn't even notice. But I totally passed that guy. I hope I didn't make this look easy when I did. Somehow I am thinking that's not really a problem for me.
And now, Super Target (cross-training).
I decided to not demonize walking. Walking happens, man. Sometimes you just gotta. But I'm trying to run (know I use that word loosely) as much as possible. However, I get passed a freaking ton. I try to not notice, but it's hard when I'm ambling around and someone zooms past as though this shit were easy peasy lemon squeezy. It's not. If it were, I wouldn't consider crying and quitting every two minutes. Whatever. Pass away, yo. At least I'm not on the curb crying when you do it, because that's what I'd like to do. At least most of the time. But I keep going... Because, well, Target.
However, today *I* got to pass someone. That's right. Me. On day 2, I'm already passing someone. I mean, he was mowing his lawn. And not actually running. He was pushing a lawn-mower. And wasn't even near the street where I was running. Maybe he didn't even notice. But I totally passed that guy. I hope I didn't make this look easy when I did. Somehow I am thinking that's not really a problem for me.
And now, Super Target (cross-training).
Monday, January 7, 2013
The Maiden Voyage
A couple of years ago I ran two half-marathons. And I felt like I could take over the entire world. I wore my medals around town for weeks. I was proud. Then I became a teacher. And I started planning lessons, grading, stressing and stopped running. And sleeping. But I'm getting better at balancing it all (I hope). And I'm going to do it again. I'm going to run another half-marathon. I'm going to have those moments where I get to run into my house, sweaty, red-faced, victorious, and get to yell, "NINE MILES! PWNED." I love having run. The problem with that is having to actually make my chubby self run. Minor detail, really.
Today was the day: my first training run for a half-marathon in June. I felt pretty fantastic lacing up my shoes this morning. Making my amazeballs running playlist. Smugly hydrating. Putting on my headband, arm band. But all the while I seemed to have forgotten one important think: I am not exactly an 'athlete.' And by that I mean I'm not. I'm not even PART Kenyan. And while I always want to think I am one of those people that goes outside and runs a "quick 6 miles," the truth is I want to shank those people. SIX MILES? Quickly? I want to stand outside, drink out of my flask, and tell all of those people off. I mean, I don't (usually). But I am always at odds with myself. Nonetheless, here I am, heading out to hit the pavement. Questioning whether or not I should stick some whiskey in my hydration belt. Just to, you know, make all of this tolerable.
I got started today and felt pretty great. For about a quarter of a mile. At first my inner-monologue was saying shit like, "Hey. Look at you running. You're pretty amazing. This song is great. Hey, neighbor. That's right. I work out." It quickly shifted to saying things like, "WHY are you running?! Did you FORGET how terrible this is? Go home. Now. Watch Downton Abbey. Maybe there are some more pretzels. WHO RUNS FOR FUN? FORGET ALL THESE NEIGHBORS." After about a quarter of a mile I am a very angry runner.
After one mile my face was red, I am pretty sure I was muttering swear words (I know, you're surprised), and I was willing to hang my running shoes up and have a cocktail. But I pushed on. My goal today was two miles, and I was damn well going to make it. At about mile 1.5 I threw up into some ground cover. I mean, it wasn't a lot. Just enough to make me question every major life decision I have ever made that somehow brought me to that moment. No big.
At the end I was running down the hill towards my house and nearly delirious. "Get Low" by Lil' Jon came on my phone, and there I was: a chubby white girl running (read: ambling) down my street screaming, "To the windows! To the walls! 'Til the sweat drops from my balls!" Don't judge; it got me home.
I quickly drank a ton of water. My face is STILL red. And in a moment of clarity I realized it would have been another 11.1 miles to the finish line. Great.
Today was the day: my first training run for a half-marathon in June. I felt pretty fantastic lacing up my shoes this morning. Making my amazeballs running playlist. Smugly hydrating. Putting on my headband, arm band. But all the while I seemed to have forgotten one important think: I am not exactly an 'athlete.' And by that I mean I'm not. I'm not even PART Kenyan. And while I always want to think I am one of those people that goes outside and runs a "quick 6 miles," the truth is I want to shank those people. SIX MILES? Quickly? I want to stand outside, drink out of my flask, and tell all of those people off. I mean, I don't (usually). But I am always at odds with myself. Nonetheless, here I am, heading out to hit the pavement. Questioning whether or not I should stick some whiskey in my hydration belt. Just to, you know, make all of this tolerable.
I got started today and felt pretty great. For about a quarter of a mile. At first my inner-monologue was saying shit like, "Hey. Look at you running. You're pretty amazing. This song is great. Hey, neighbor. That's right. I work out." It quickly shifted to saying things like, "WHY are you running?! Did you FORGET how terrible this is? Go home. Now. Watch Downton Abbey. Maybe there are some more pretzels. WHO RUNS FOR FUN? FORGET ALL THESE NEIGHBORS." After about a quarter of a mile I am a very angry runner.
After one mile my face was red, I am pretty sure I was muttering swear words (I know, you're surprised), and I was willing to hang my running shoes up and have a cocktail. But I pushed on. My goal today was two miles, and I was damn well going to make it. At about mile 1.5 I threw up into some ground cover. I mean, it wasn't a lot. Just enough to make me question every major life decision I have ever made that somehow brought me to that moment. No big.
At the end I was running down the hill towards my house and nearly delirious. "Get Low" by Lil' Jon came on my phone, and there I was: a chubby white girl running (read: ambling) down my street screaming, "To the windows! To the walls! 'Til the sweat drops from my balls!" Don't judge; it got me home.
I quickly drank a ton of water. My face is STILL red. And in a moment of clarity I realized it would have been another 11.1 miles to the finish line. Great.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)