Apps, Sweat and Jeers

I started jogging in May.

I feel like I need to confess it, or come out of the proverbial closet since I've been a staunch anti-runner for a number of years now.

Yes, in the past I've said such ugly things as "The only time you'll catch me running is if Jason Voorhees is chasing me, with fire" and "Running? But why? Did someone steal your cellie and you're trying to get it back? Cuz it's got that Find My Phone app, right? I mean, you don't NEED to run. You're choosing to. Choose to not."  Oh and let's not forget the wonderful, "No one is born running. It's not a way of life unless you're a gazelle."

Oh the humanity.

See, because, the truth is that for as long as I can remember, I've known something was up. I'd watch people jogging and think "Good LORD why?" and then (quieter) "Well, maybe it's not that bad..."  I'd check out kicks (running shoes, for you laymen) and wish that I was wearing them instead of ridiculously uncomfortable shoes unsuitable for walking.

I'd watch parades of people, dressed all alike in running "outfits" (albeit some people chose to cover more than others), waving flags and posters that say such witty things as "I Run, I'm Out, Get Used to it!" I'd feel drawn to the scene yet would say things like "A Marathon! Lunacy I say!" and would snort and scoff until everyone around me was embarrassed.

And yet.

Here I was, buying an app for my phone-- Couch to 5K it is called. Wow. I drank the last gulp of my glass of water, and pressed "install."  I knew something was about to change when I let that, title and all, be on my phone for anyone to see.

I sat and stared at it for almost two weeks before I got the courage to open the app for the first time. And then, on May 15th, I decided I would try it out and timidly walked to the park.

I put in my earbuds, turned on the app and began running. I ran like it was the only thing I'd ever known. My hair, billowing softly behind me as I loped gorgeously around the park; my body easily took to running like a fish to water. My true self glowed with every step; my heartbeat sang with every breath. It's like I'd been running all my life.

I couldn't stop smiling the entire time.

Wait. No.
That's the Pinterest image of what I was doing.

I put in my earbuds, not yet wise to threading the wire through my shirt to keep it from bouncing the speakers from my ears.  My face was puffy and blotchy and my lungs were on fire after the first 10 seconds of running. I tried to pace my breathing so my heartbeat would be at the correct rate for something good (whatever that was). I quickly realized that was futile since I was, in fact, hardly moving at all and my heart was banging like screen-door in a hurricane. When the lovely British woman who narrates the run said "Just keep going-- only 10 seconds left!" I wasn't sure if she was talking about the end of the run or the end of my life.

2 minutes later, she told me it was time to start my second 1-minute run and I nearly shit. I mean, really almost shit. Who the hell is this Euro-bitch telling me it's time to run with her smiley voice and upbeat encouragement? I started running and lasted a total of 8 seconds before I dry-heaved on the pretty, green grass near the play equipment.  How can kids just run and run and run?
Eff-'em.

Reality: It's taken me 3 months to get to the 4th week of the program.

As it turns out, the App I should've bought would be called Coma to 5K because I was not even anywhere close to "couch" in terms of fit. But, in the meantime I've almost lost a toenail (from cheaping out on sneakers, but it made me feel like a real Runner, so it's not all bad). And, if Sweating ever counts for anything in the Olympics I could steal Gold from anyone, anywhere, anytime.

Do I really want to run 5K? Nah. I'm hoping to be able to chase Kiddo #2 and actually catch him. I'm running so I can dance and sing with Kiddo #1, at the same time.  Hell, let's be honest: I'm running to escape the dishes and laundry and bills and weeds and whatever else is taking over my house. I'm running to have at least 30 minutes that are only for me where the only thing dripping fluids on me is me.

Hell to the yes.

After 30-ish years, I think it's possible to say that all the anti-running sentiments and general run-a-phobia might have been a woman resisting her true self.  So, to all the runners out there: I'm terribly sorry if I (secretly) thought you were insane or any proximity thereof.  And I'm really sorry if I told you about your insanity to your face.  You were confident in who you are; I'm getting there, one footstep and bucket of sweat at a time.