Running Behind

I took up running again this year, after I finally realized that as long as I had two kids under 10, a full time job, and a spouse who works ridiculous hours, I was not going to see the inside of a gym again for many years. (Though...I haven't given up paying for the gym membership yet, so at heart I'm still hopelessly optimistic.)

After years of mocking anyone who owned a pair of dolphin shorts and running shoes, I started to run out of desperation at the stubborness of what my oldest daughter lovingly referred to as my post-pregnancy "bouncy tummy." Ouch. And because I needed something to do besides play with myself that would allow me to work off my frustration at the current state of my sex life. To my surprise, I liked it (ok, I admit it - not as much as my other stress-relieving activity, but it DOES burn more calories and I can do it in public).

I'm probably the only person on the planet who does not have a pair of earbuds destroying what's left of my hearing while I run. I don't listen to music; I count. I run in eight-counts. I have no idea why - it just happens. Possibly left over from ballet and drill team during my formative years. I realize this probably qualifies me as borderline nutso, but hey, I like it. It works. It's got some weird zen property that clears my mind and allows me to think about something other than whether I'm in the right job or the right marriage -- maybe instead about my writing, plot and character development, dialogue, and whether the f-ing skin around my middle is finally getting any tighter, damn it.

Recently, I even ran a 5k. (Or maybe I should say, even I ran a 5k.) I don't think I will ever be a marathon person because frankly I would rather pour orange juice on my eyeballs than run 26 miles in one day. (Ok, maybe the Rock & Roll Marathon, but only because there are bands. And maybe, in keeping with the overall theme, they'd let you run it on shrooms...try thinking about what that would be like, I dare you.) But 5k is not so bad, it's doable, it's only mild discomfort. And I did come in 6th in my age group, which I was feeling pretty cocky about for exactly 10 days. And then I got an email from the owner of a company I'm consulting for, who had just run a supermarathon -- apparently, after the asylum inmates are released, the first thing they want to do is run a 50 mile race. Who thinks this is fun? Why are they allowed to live afterward, and worse yet, to talk about it? We (the only mildly insane) do not want to hear about your supermarathon, you hypercompetitive alien from another planet! We are feeling pretty good about our stupid little 5k, thank you very much.

Maybe I should just break down and get an IPod...