...It's a series of sprints.
I've often heard this said and thought there must be something to it, but it was not until recently that I received its full meaning. In the "somebody gift wrapped it, tied it with a Martha Stewart bow, and left it on my front doorstep" sorta way.
First let me start with this:
I. HATE. RUNNING.
There I've said it. Put it out there for the whole world to see. There's no turning back now. And it feels goooood.
Let's face it. As far as the exercise du jour, running is the new black. The IT trend. C'mon I read Us Weekly...religiously. And every week I see Miss Reese Witherspoon with her iPod chugging down some Hollywood Hill. Or Fergie with that weird water bottle thing. Seriously, what's up with that?
Now being that I like to fancy myself a "with it" kinda girl, for any number of years I have tried with great dedication and perseverance to convince myself that I, in fact, would actually LOVE running if I just gave it a chance.
Look at all those happy people. Their head bands tucked neatly over a bouncing pony tail. Running and smiling. Smiling and running. Now granted in Connecticut these people insist on running year round in the negative 20 degree weather, so for all I know their smile froze like that sometime last October and just hasn't had a chance to thaw out yet. But still, they LOOK happy.
Yet each and every time *I* try to take up running my face turns a lovely shade of purple (eggplant 120 according to those paint swatches at Home Depot...y'know the square ones, not the ones that come in those strips) and my side feels like it's going to explode. And that's just from lacing up my tennis shoes.
I have tried any number of things to get myself excited about running. First I bought some running pants. Ya gotta have those. Then, moving southward, I realized I would be nothing without a good pair of running shoes. White ones with the teal trim (gotta love branding with athletic wear). And honestly how could I even possibly consider running without a teal iPod shuffle to match? And yet, totally surprisingly to me, I did not run.
So you can imagine my enjoyment at my husband's recent announcement in his State of the Couple Address that, in our ongoing efforts to get in shape, we were going to start waking up at the crack of dawn (8:30!!) to run "telephone poles". What are "telephone poles" you may be asking, to which I would say "good question!"
Telephone poles are where we run the distance of two telephone poles and walk one. Then run again. Then walk again. And...well I'm sure you're getting the picture.
Now I tried everything to get out of these. I hid under the covers. But he knew where to find me. I begged for mercy. He had none. I even tried bargaining. "Darlin, we can eat Krispy Kremes for breakfast, lunch & dinner and I won't say a WORD." But still, he was unmoved.
And so I run. Two telephone poles, and walk one. And on and on it goes. And here's the thing, even for a self-professed running hater such as me, I've discovered that you can do ANYTHING for the space of two telephone poles. Anything. Because the end is always in sight. You see, life is not a marathon, it's a series of sprints.
And so I run. Yes, by golly, I run. But know this blog world, you will never, no never, catch ME running & smiling in 20 below weather.
On that I stand firm.
Friday, July 25, 2008
...It's a series of sprints.