Normally I hang out in this stage for a bit. Maybe a month, or a year (or my whole and entire life up until this moment…) Laying around, imagining the seriously kick–ass athelete I am going to be, just as soon as I, you know, get around to it. But lately my body has turned on me often enough that I don’t trust that I have the luxury of time. I’ve been running around the house, waving my hands, yelling at my husband that if we want to do it, we’d better do it NOW! It’s not just the random “syndromes” I’ve collected, the reading glasses perched on my nose, or that I need to use the closed captioning on the television if the volume is under 75. No, it’s that my body is so darned uncooperative these days. Downright cranky, she is.
Me: Good morning, body, let’s get up, maybe exercise a little bit, walk around, do a few house chores.
Body: Go to hell.
Me: Come on! You’ll feel so good when we get going.
Body: I’ll feel good when you shut up.
Me: But I’ve got Cooooofffeeeee…
Body: …. I’m listening….
See? She is a bear. Now, never you fear… I have a plan. The plan to run a marathon in four hours and thirty minutes is this;
- Find a magic lamp.
- Make a wish and
- Wake up a 21 year-old-Ethiopian male.
Okay, fine. For real what I need to do is this;
Take advantage of indoor, winter workouts and do strenth training and stretching. Right now I do exactly zero of either. Given that my race photos look as if my body is trying to slough off my spine to lie on the ground like a character in an old war-time movie (“Go!” It’s saying, “Save yourself!”) I probably could stand to gain a little “core strength.” Maybe if I could hold my body upright those last two… five… alright, seven miles, my time would improve a smitch.
Lose another 12 pounds. I mean, it only took me 14 years to lose my pregnancy weight so losing the additional few, bringing me down to my middle school weight, will clearly be a piece of cake. (mmmmm……cake….) And I don’t think owning a cookie shop is a deterent, do you? I’m thinking this should take what? A month? Six weeks?
(Shut up, you.)
Finally, the crux of the matter; point myself out the door and run.
That’s it. That’s the beautiful simplicity of running. Left. Right. Repeat. Left. Right. UP the hill. Left. Right. DOWN the hill. As scared as I am to push myself as hard as I’m going to have to, I usually reach my running goals. True, it helps to have low expectations. If I had been any kind of athlete when I was younger I would have the specter of that fitter me to contend with. As it stands, if I can pull myself up from a reclining position without getting dizzy, I pretty much have her beat.
Oh, and one more thing. Maybe I should actually register for the darned thing. You know…right after I finish this glass of wine.