You know what I didn’t do last week? I didn’t go on the group fun run. I was all set to go -changed into running clothes, had already scoped out the location so I knew where to park. I had been looking forward to it! And then.
Well, and then a few things. One is that the nasty rash on my body has been really unhappy with tight, sweaty sports bras. (We now think that it’s an allergic reaction to new detergent that I bought and Patrick spent all evening re-washing most of my wardrobe. )
The next thing was that the location is a couple of blocks from work, but didn’t start until an hour and a half AFTER I leave for the day. While I could have sat at my desk for an additional hour and a half…well, I’m not even going to bother finishing that sentence. I also could have just hung out in my car (which I do quite often! And enjoy!) but 90 minutes is a lot even for me to endure.
But the REAL reason is this: I was just chicken shit. I pussed out. I suck. Booooo. Fail.
I was scared of sucking fantastically so I went home and felt like a loser and decided that I was just going to have to conquer this “becoming a runner” thing on my own.
Yesterday I mapped the distance from our complex to the major road at the end of the street to be .75 miles. And, not that you can’t, ya know, ADD, that means that if I ran to the light and back twice I could get in 3 miles.
Three teensy miles. When I get on the treadmill I make four my absolute minimum and three miles just sounds pretty lame. But, then again, I hate getting on the treadmill and the whole point of all this is to find my mother-fucking RUNNING ZEN ALRIGHT?1!! It seemed like a reasonable enough start and, truthfully, I didn’t even know if I’d make it that far.
I went to bed early last night so I’d have no excuse for not getting up at 5 and going for a run. OUTSIDE.
After only one hit of snooze this morning I got up, got sufficiently ready and dressed and made my way outside. Into the pouring rain.
So I thought about it. It’s raining. Good excuse to go back to bed! Or, ya know, hit the treadmill that’s right there.
Or, just suck it up and get a little wet. Which is exactly what I did.
I hit the sidewalk with a run (read: slow jog), down to milestone 1 (.5 miles), up to milestone 2 (the main road). The rush hour traffic was loud and unpleasant and at only a quarter of the way there I was already might wet. I also tried to recall if that road has always been so far uphill, or if some asshole came last night and lifted the road. I made it to the light, did my turn and headed back to my parking lot – the half way point.
Seeing the entrance to my warm, dry, apartment was definitely a lure, but I couldn’t look myself in the face and call one and a half miles a workout, so I turned again and headed back to the main road.
The last stretch back was easy, being mostly downhill and all, and it was only a few blocks out before I landed ankle deep in a puddle and noticed my shoe was untied. When I walked in the door I was utterly saturated, but not terribly winded. Three miles was, admittedly, not all that hard. I’m not sure yet how to add some mileage while avoiding a major freeway but there are a couple of neighborhoods I could probably detour into to add a little distance.
I’ll probably stick with the three miles for the rest of this week until I really feel like I’ve got the hang of it. And while it’s not much to brag about, still, you have to start somewhere.