I used to date a guy who told me I was too cerebral. Actually, he was a moron and cerebral wasn’t in his vocabulary. He told me that I over thought things. Pssh! Had I really been that much of a thinker, he would have been an ex much more quickly.
Anyway. He came to mind tonight as I completed Day 8 of the Couch to 5K Program. I’ve been in this running thing for over a year now, so I thought I had it down pat. I know smoking and the long hiatus are not conducive to me becoming an effective runner. Tonight, I realized that my mind game is vicious.
My normal and favorite track is still over run by a neighborhood football team, The Trojans (no, they are not protective, lol). The closet track is the field of dreams at Monsignor Bonner. When I arrived I saw a group of guys hanging in the parking lot. I asked if they were there for practice or something and they said they weren’t. Feeling a need to explain why I asked, I told them that I didn’t want to run in front of a bunch of guys. They looked at me, each other, and laughed. Now to explain. It’s not that I’m worried about jiggling in front of them. Actually, the jiggling I would do would make a few of them swear off trans fat. It’s just that who would subject themselves to teenagers?
My body and my motivational team (The Mister, Bookwoman, The Boy, Queenie, Sleeping Beauty, KnittyLawyer, KOCO-Yaya) don’t care how fast, how slow, if I stop, if I pant. They are proud of me for doing it. My mind feels like I should be further along, and that these kids gave a flip about me.
I’m not further along, and most likely won’t be for another 6 months or so. I anticipate a few Fat Mama Cheeseburger moments, an injury, and some end of the summer imbibing that will most definitely inhibit my training.
At the track, I warmed up and observed kids running along and surpassing their parents. The kids giggled and ran quite happy. The parents looked pained, tight, and like they would rather be anywhere but there.
The Boy is like that. When we go out together, he runs and runs, all out until he collapses in a tired heap. He catches his breath, then is back again, running with true abandon.
I envy that.
Just as I think I’m at a point where I don’t care about what others think about my chicken wing triceps, I find something else to be prick at.
I’m going to run like I have the grace of a gazelle, like the wind is carrying me, and most important, have some fun while doing it!