Lamentations of a Wannabe Runner

buy clomid nz Anyone who knows me – really knows me – knows that I am NOT an athlete. In middle school, I ran in PE when we were forced. In high school, I was on the tennis team as a sophomore to avoid taking PE and because my BFF, Candace, was also joining the team. I danced a bit between middle and high school, and I lettered in baseball for taking score, retrieving bats, delivering the pitcher’s jacket, and baking chocolate chip cookies. I also played softball for church league. But none of these constitutes an ATHLETE.

In the last 15 years of my life, I have done 2 athletic-esque things: I have been trained and certified as an aerobics instructor (and taught for one summer), and I have carried a baby for 9 months and then lived without much sleep for almost a year. That’s it.

Back in April of this year, I decided that I would start running. After having my daughter, I felt so out of shape. I swore to myself that I would be a marathon runner before I ever had more children. Since then, my husband and I have created our “plan” for more children, and I realized I hadn’t yet run that marathon. Then, my younger brother said he was going to run a 1/2 marathon, and I thought, “Geez, if HE can do a 1/2 marathon, can’t I run a 5k?” I figured a 5k for a non-athlete was analogous to a marathon for a real athlete. So I started.

In the last few months, I have participated in 4 races. I have been “training” to complete a race, but have yet to actually run 3.1 miles either on the roads here in the land of Cleves or on any of those race courses. So, I continue to practice, and I continue to sign up for 5ks.

Tonight, while I was running, I began to think of all the reasons I cannot believe I’m a runner and all the things that drive me absolutely batty while I’m out there on the open road trying to be an athlete. Here they are, David Letterman style.

10. It’s hard to find the right time of day. Either I wake up at 4:30 in the morning, or I wait until after A goes to bed, or I go when it’s 3000 degrees outside. This workout thing is just inconvenient. I don’t like to wake up, it’s dark and scary after her bedtime, and I don’t like to sweat.

9. I don’t like to sweat. Seriously. I have girlfriends who are athletes who say they LOVE it because it lets them know they’re accomplishing something. I’m thinking that if I was supposed to sweat on a regular basis, I would and it wouldn’t gross me out.

8. Dogs. I love dogs, but I don’t like the ones who stare at me and bark when I’m trying to jog by them. They’re in a fence or invisible fence, but how do I know they aren’t horribly hungry and want to jump their fence to eat me? I’m just sayin’.

7. Garbage cans. People have some stinky garbage. It isn’t pleasant to run by on Thursday night when they’ve put all their garbage out at the curb for Friday pick up. I have to find a way to hold my breath, and that just messes with my breathing ritual.

6. My shins. I’ve done everything I can other than just stop, and they still hurt. I have iced them. I have stretched them. I have bought new shoes. I have tried my darndest to take care of my shins, but alas, they still ache.

5. Limited options for food. When I’m going to run, I can’t scarf down my favorites: cookies, cake, soda, pizza, cheeseburger, Mexican food. Those don’t sit well on my stomach. So, I have to be a responsible eater. This takes brain power. Brain power is limited for me.

4. Spooky strangers. This is rare, but there have been times I’ve passed someone I really don’t know who leers at me. And while the old couples I pass aren’t technically spooky, they still want me to stop and talk to them. I don’t want to be out there let alone stop and talk to people.

3. The pressure of being in front of other people. I wish I could run in an opaque bubble that kept people from seeing me. Although I’m quite certain I am ridiculously gorgeous when I run, I’d like to keep my “I hate sweating” face to myself.

2. Psyching myself out. I will think about all these issues the entire time I’m racing. I haven’t figured out how to do that escape thing that some of my runner friends talk about. It doesn’t matter what I do – even if I try to listen to my music – I still can think of nothing but why I totally hate the entire 45 minutes or so I’m out there.

1. Wearing the wrong shorts and having that annoying bunching phenomenon between my legs. I HATE this with a passion. There’s no non-awkward way to remedy this. I have tried pretending like I’m doing an obstacle course and extend my side-to-side stride to let the shorts fall back to a natural position. This just looks weird. I have tried to simply pull them back down, but there’s really no opportune time to do this without SOMEONE witnessing. It feels weird; it looks weird.

And so, although I’m not really enjoying my time out there, I still feel like a beast for accomplishing any of it. Now if I could figure out how to do it without sweating!