Haven't been here in a while. Been running. Like a lot. Like more than I ever thought I would run in a week. Like I am running hills and shit. I. Don’t do hills.
We get up and run at the local lake at 7am. On a Saturday morning. I work from home. When was the last time I woke up before 7 during the week let alone on a Saturday? Maybe 2008? Maybe that time I caught a flight to Mexico and had to be at the airport so I wouldn’t miss vacation. That got me out of bed at the crack of dawn. But now I get up to run. And not to run from bad guys or to run from my problems I’m just out there like a fool running and slogging along trying not to slow my pace group down.
Oh, but I do slow them down. I’m the slug at the end of the pack who keeps making decisions about whether I should find the short cut back to the car or to keep on keeping on. Half the time I am out there wogging (walking/jogging, more walking lately though), I want to bail on my group and go find the nearest buffet and belly up to the unhealthiest and fattening grease pit I can find within a 10-mile radius. I have visions of bacon and omelets piled high with layers of cheeses. I think about my body fighting me and telling me to divert the group path and ditch their asses.
I find myself wondering if I am getting enough oxygen because I am struggling to catch my breath. And then I turn to my left and a group of hot looking men with the best calves this side of the Mississippi is pacing me at what freaking looks like a gallop. And so I find myself motivated to get back into shape, motivated to run a freaking half-marathon.
Stupid bucket list.
We're up to 8 miles next week. 8 freaking consecutive miles. I'd rather stuff myself with 8 greasy burgers and vomit for 8 hours straight then to slog along at 7 am on Saturday.
But, I'll do it.
My waistline appreciates it.
And maybe my confidence.
But I’m still allowed to bitch about it.