I have sworn my entire life that running is something I’d never do. No matter how popular it got. No matter how much fun it looks in the pictures of women covered in paint or mud or dressed in matching outfits, smiling from ear to ear. That will never be me, man. Those bitches are crazy. Running sucks and no matter how many people on Facebook pretend to like it, I’ll never be snowed into doing it... I thought.
Still. Those women must have some attributes that I don’t have because running is suffering. Plain and simple. That ‘high’ everybody talks about must be a lie. Only high I ever felt was that black, starry feeling you get right before you pass out. No. Not doing it.
Then, life kicked me in the stomach.
Health. Serious problems that I’ve been dismissing for a good year, suddenly developed flashing red lights and a siren. My first instinct was to dive back into the murky waters of weight loss dogma. The relentless swirl of points and writing everything down and weigh-ins and carbs and YOU CAN’T EAT THAT!
I’ve had enough taken away from me for right now. I’m not willing to give up anything else for a while.
Here’s the thing, though. I’m one hell of a starter. I’ve got a good 25 years worth of before pictures to back me up on this one. So, before I stepped foot on the treadmill with an intent to be a runner, I decided I am not letting myself off the hook until I’ve completed at least one 5K. Even if I hate it. Even if it never gets better. Even if my initial thought that you runners are freaks is completely accurate.
That said, I just finished week three of Couch to 5K and I’m still wondering what kind of fairy dust is supposed to waft out of my phone over the next six weeks that is going to make me capable of running 3 miles when running for 3 minutes feels like my lungs are being scraped over a cheese grater. How can you people claim to enjoy this agony?
Shortly after I passed them, my phone died. My no good, lying, cheating, worthless phone that said I had 56% battery went dead. Mid run! I wanted to throw it against a tree, fall to my knees, raise my hands to the sky and scream, “NO!” How was I supposed to finish my timed walk/run cycles? How was I supposed to function without music blaring in my ears? It was a freaking tragedy, I tell you.
(I get it. First World Problem. So is obesity. I live in the first world. That’s where all of my problems are.)
That terrible experience may have been the first inkling that I might have a chance of actually doing this thing. I’m not. *huff huff* Effing. *huff huff* Quitting. *full blown panting*
Of course, that’s why I’m posting my commitment here. I’m counting on you guys to be a source of public shame if I quit. Mind you, I’m not looking for you to throw rotten fruit at me. Your silent knowing is enough. I expect to feel utterly defeated if I quit. Again. In front of everybody. I think that would feel terrible. Like, even more terrible than running feels.
So, if you see me out in the world, please don’t call an ambulance if I’m still vertical. Also, please don’t try to talk to me because, honestly, I don’t have the spare oxygen for that. And, before you offer, cause I know how you psycho runners operate, no, I’m not ready to run with you. I’d rather suffer alone for now, thanks.
If I do manage to keep going, though, I’m expecting y’all to be lined up next to me one day, with your (possibly fake) *I love to run* smiles and matching outfits, getting a picture for MY Facebook wall.
*I do not represent nor did I receive compensation from C25K or Panera for mentioning their products. I just like them. One more than the other.