Saturday Morning Runs

Being a nurse and the mom of young children, that title could go a couple different directions.

I went for a run this morning. 3 miles, around the neighborhood. There are several reasons to run. I get time by myself, which is in short supply these days. I like anything that goes with running, the cute brightly colored shoes, the running skirts, the pictures of people running with inspirational quotes on Pinterest.  And I'm improving my probably already stellar cardiovascular health. But really, the most important reason to run is that I like to say things like "Alright, I'm heading out for a run" and "Boy, my calves sure are sore from my run this morning." I make sure to say the word 'run' extra loud so that they can be sure to know that I am indeed an athletic and fit person.

When I actually run, it's not as glamorous. I run in constant fear that my shorts will burst into flames from all the friction. I have to carry my generic mp3 player since the belt clip broke off years ago (probably more from cheap material than my enthusiastic running). This is Florida in July so it's basically like running in a swimming pool of humidity.

Since this is my neighborhood, occasionally I'll see people that I know. If I happen to be walking or taking a break when I see someone, my plan is to quickly put my hands on my knees and bend over slightly, giving the impression that I've just sprinted a grueling 17 miles and must rest or my heart will explode. Sometimes I even raise one finger, to let them know I need a minute before talking. This plan hardly ever works, as I'm too busy choosing songs, pulling down my compression shorts (compression shorts riding up can not be a good sign for my legs) or staring blankly. It's hard to pretend to wheeze in an athletic way when really I'm just walking, exerting no more energy than when I try to figure out why the Justin Beiber haircut is so popular.

A friend of mine lives on the other side of the neighborhood. She runs. Like actually runs, not like what I do. She mentioned some time ago that she put 1000 miles on her shoes before they broke down and that was with all humility and simply because we were talking about running shoes. Unlike my conversations about running which sound like this:

Me: "I went running today."
Person who may be practically a stranger: "Oh, okay. Boy, it's hot today, isn't it?"
Me: "Sure is, especially when you are a runner, like me."
Person (getting visibly uncomfortable): "Yes, I'm sure. Well, see you later."
Me: "3 miles, I ran 3 miles today. I ran them. All of them."

And then I sometimes wait just in case that person decides that my accomplishment is so momentous that she decides to applaud me. Maybe even clapping for 3 minutes, one for each mile I ran.

I'm so popular.

Anyway, this morning as I was huffing along, I silently thanked my lucky stars that it's later in the morning and my friend K usually runs early, as serious runners do. Most often if I meet her around the neighborhood, I time it so that I'm taking a walking break and it looks like I'm not running at all (it's a gift). I ran around the corner to the back stretch of the neighborhood and check my mp3 player, scrolling through my songs. I probably have enough to run 5 marathons back-to-back and never hear the same song. As it is, it will take me all year to hear those songs. So I'm checking my music when I spot her, flying toward me with her perfectly trained dog. Of course, I'm walking now, of course. Then we make small talk while she gets in step beside me to jog. Not only does she run faster, so I have to, I'm also babbling away, causing me to run out of breath. Now my cheeks are all flushed with exertion and I can barely finish the inane anecdote I was telling. She looks like a Nike commercial, all fit and cute. Her ponytail evens bounces athletically behind her. When I run, I have to put my hair in Princess Lea type knots, which isn't as cute as it sounds. If I wear a ponytail, the moisture makes it look like I've strapped a pomeranian to my head.

After a few minutes I sacrifice my pride and tell her I can't run with her. So we walk for a few minutes but she's still bouncing a bit next to me, like a sports car revving idly. I imagine it's similar to Pooh Bear and Tigger going for a walk. She turns around after a bit to finish her run in the opposite direction. All right, now I can finish mine in the manner to which I've become accustomed. Down the side street, onto the long stretch that leads to my house. I stop for a moment to decide if I want to listen to J Train or Gimme Three Steps, make my selection and look up - oh, c'mon! For pity's sake, really? As she runs by, she encouragingly calls out "I think we did the same distance!"

Yes, we're exactly the same, the running goddess and me.