I Run This Town

When I first started running, I stayed in our neighborhood. It was much more comfortable for me to be hideous in front of a much smaller number of people. Plus, if my heart suddenly exploded, which seemed a very real possibility, there was a better chance of someone I knew finding me.

Once I started training for this upcoming half-marathon, I realized that I would have to venture out onto longer roads. Getting past 8 miles in my neighborhood was tough as I was running up and down the same four streets, getting barked at by the same dogs.

My first run out of the neighborhood was terrible. I parked at a nearby grocery store and ran a 5 mile loop. Then I came back to the car and chugged my water bottle and stuffed dried dates in my mouth like a deranged chipmunk. My plan was to run from there back to my house, get Toby, and run back to the car. By the time I picked up Toby, I was practically limping along with exhaustion, the massive influx of water sloshing around in my stomach. Toby was thrilled, pulling at the leash. I could hardly hold him I was so tired. To get back to the car we had to cross over a highway overpass. With no shoulder. And a dog.

That was super smart. Cars whizzing past, Toby nervous and trying to hide behind my legs as we walked across.

But it got better. Eventually my stamina improved, even if my ample, date-consuming body did not. I was nervous about running in front of so many people as I do not look like a runner.

At all.

In fact, I look like a person who only runs when confronted with possible death. Or when the Krispy Kreme light is on and there's only 1 minute until close and it's at the end of a long street.

But I run nonetheless. Even though it's still fairly embarrassing and I feel self-conscious, wondering what people driving by are thinking:

"What is that poor woman running from?"

"Does she realize how her armpit fat looks in that tank top?"

"Why is this walker wearing so much gear? (To the passenger): Do you suppose she's walking across the country, like Forest Gump?"

I saw this video recently, empowering women to exercise even if they feel self-conscious doing it:

It's pretty awesome and I figure if they can exercise and film it to be viewed for an international audience, then surely I can run a few measly sidewalks in my little town.


I also recently got a Camelbak hydration pack, one of these babies:





Which is the adult equivalent of running with a juice box. Only instead of Capri Sun, it's flavored electrolyte water. Before I got one, I had to run back to my car halfway through to maniacally chug my water bottle. I used to fixate on that water bottle. Thirsty after running 5 miles, I would imagine the car being stolen and tried not to panic, thinking about them taking my water bottle.

So I got a hydration pack, which not only alleviates the water bottle issue but also significantly raises my coolness factor. There is nothing cooler than a grown person sucking water out of a huge straw coming from behind their head.

Nothing.

The hydration pack does lead to some problems, however. This past Saturday I ran 13 miles around town (longest distance ever! ate a Klondike bar that night to celebrate! could barely walk the next day! so much fun!) and it was sunny and temperate in the afternoon, 65 degrees, thank God for Florida's winters. So I wore a tank top.

Here's an issue that smaller, leaner, non-tank-top wearing runners don't have to deal with - arm chafing with a hydration pack. I brought a ribbon with me to tie the front straps together (another point for looking cool) but my arms still rubbed against them.

At one point, it was getting so painful that I took out my lip balm and stood on the side of the road, rubbing Chapstick on the inside of my arms.

Which sounds like the title of an interesting book.

Standing on the Side of the Road, Rubbing Chapstick on My Arms: 
                                A Memoir

The other thing about running around a small town is the encouraging amount of support I receive from people.  Head nods, high fives, every once in a while a shouted "You go, girl!"

And so I keep going, if not for the simple reason that complete strangers believe in me. And I can't let what's-his-name down.

Sure it's frustrating when I take half the day to run what feels like 50 miles but actually only turns out to be 10. Four hours isn't even a great marathon time, let alone an acceptable 10 mile time. What with all the walk breaks, the side cramps, the date eating, and the all-over Chapstick applications, it takes me forever. I try not to think about the fact that people are SLOWLY completing MARATHONS before I've finished meandering through a tiny bit of my town.

But still I run. And that's got to count for something,even if it's just a Klondike Bar on Saturday night.