Saturday, April 9, 2011

I am Officially a Running Wimp

I stepped on the scale in the wellness center at work.  Up... Still more... tap, tap tap... It was one of those old fashioned, doctor's office type scales, with a little balance at the top.

"Hey," I said loudly, "I haven't lost any weight, and I've been working out for like, three days."

A random lady in the locker room laughed.  Oh yeah.  Not. At. Home.  People can hear me.

It is actually pretty spectacular that I have actually been working out at all.  I've been running.  OK, I've been jogging a little, and walking.  The hope is that some day I will be a super athlete.  Every time I jog more than a minute at a time, I imagine that someday soon, I will qualify to run the marathon in the Olympics.  Before you know it, I will be running 100 mile races without breaking a sweat.

Who says I can't set realistic long term goals?

Hollywood has completely ruined my expectations, though.  In movies, as soon as someone decides they are going to try to get in shape, all it takes is a montage, and they have the body of Angelina Jolie.  Apparently, in real life, a montage takes several months.  And plastic surgery.

One of the hardest things about getting off my butt and actually doing anything is this fear of judgment.  I was talking to a coworker about this when we were on a walk.

Me:  "I don't want to run here, really.  Everyone can see me.  They'll judge me."

Her:  "Ha ha.  No they won't."

Me: "Sure they do."

Her: "You don't judge the other people running."

Me: "Um... Yes I do."

Then she stopped talking to me.

I am sure she was judging me as a judging judge.  Which is probably true.  But as an "armchair athlete", I think I am entitled.  I know what good running is supposed to look like.  Form, balance, stride, blah blah blah.  I read about it all the time.  Just because I can't do it doesn't mean it isn't right.


It's just about time to sign up for the Bolder Boulder.  Seven weeks from Monday.  Can I run a 10K race and not die? 

Last year was a bit of a disaster.  But this time, this time, I'll totally beat the other 55,000 runners.  Because I have seven weeks to go from not being able to run a mile into SUPER ATHLETE who eats Cocoa Pebbles for breakfast every day.


Zoya, Patrick, Nora and Stuart said...

What's funny is that I think the 'uber athletes' who do the long races really fast actually hurt a whole lot more than the rest of us (doing it slow) while they are doing it. There is no running a 100 miles without breaking a sweat, and if you really want to do it fast - you better expect a LOT of pain. Patrick

Leauxra said...

I'm sure you're right. I am in a "train don't strain" mode. I did put in 10 whole miles in the last week (15 if you count walking to the pub one evening), but in tiny 1-2 mile increments. But I actually saw improvements in less than a week, which is encouraging.

I am trying to decide if I can run a marathon in December at my slow training pace. I think I'll wait and see where I am at the end of the summer.

But whenever I do anything, I somehow start imagining fame and glory from it, even if all I'm doing is organizing my paint supplies. The constant delusions of glory do help.

Anonymous said...

Here is what you do. You find out where the finish line is, then you go very early the day of the race and hide near there. Then just as you see other runners coming close, dump a bottle of water on yourself so you'll look all sweaty and worn out, run out onto the road, and there you go -- WINNING.

Leauxra said...

Hmm... how is it you're the third person, hoodyhoo, that has told me to cheat? Er... massage the truth?

All the cheating cheaters is probably why they are chip timed... a little RFID tied to every racer's shoe so they can see if you didn't run the whole way.

Those jerks don't trust anyone.

Anonymous said...

The larger question -- why are you taking part in something that requires you to be tagged like a harp seal? Will you be on National Geographic?

Leauxra said...

Hey now, when they tag the animals, they usually pierce their ear with a number on it... wait. I didn't think about that. Apparently I am volunteering to be low-jacked. Paying for the privilege actually. That's awesome.