I've always gotten my cardio workout as God intended: Through fast-paced walking from store to store; doing bicep curls with shopping bags; and during stair-climbing sessions of those daunting steps in the mall. But last summer, after "celebrating" my 36th (sniff) birthday I decided to take things up a notch. I joined a gym and started a running program.
Initially, I started running for the challenge of it. I'd never participated in team sports, or any sport for that matter. I hate getting all sweaty. I adamantly refuse to wear workout clothes in public. I could never, ever be one of those chipper energy-gel slugging women in matching Nike sports bras and Tempo running shorts (by the way, what the HELL is the mystique with those things? Yesterday at Starbucks I saw high school girls wearing them layered with leggings and Uggs. Layered. With Uggs.) But I digress. I longed to be toned, and strong, and knew running could bring about those results. Even better, running has an additional benefit - it reduces my anxiety and stress. When I run, I have lots of time to think. I can let my mind wander and all the stress of my world fades away.
But occasionally my thoughts turn negative. Sometimes I truly question the existence of that elusive "runner's high," the mythical release of happy jolly endorphins that supposedly warm your body like crack. When I start to feel fatigued, usually around mile 1.5, negative thoughts creep into my head. I realize I'm having some sort of identity crisis. I think, what the hell am I doing here? Do runners think this is fun? I must not be a runner! You know what's fun? Lounging on the couch, watching bad reality TV all night and gorging myself with a gigantic bowl of butter and salt-drenched popcorn. Or sitting at a bar slugging Maker's Mark and laughing with friends until my throat hurts. Now that's fun!
I keep running until I reach mile 2. Runners adore this, I think. They love to persevere and push themselves. Don't get me wrong; I love this feeling too. But sometimes I really feel like I'm going to die. Or suffocate. This is hard. I must not be a runner.
Mile 2.5. My mind continues to wander. I'm hungry. What's for lunch? Uh-oh. I must not be a runner. Runners eat energy bars and protein shakes. I like shakes too, but the chocolate ice cream kind. As a matter of fact, theoretically, I could be in my kitchen making a shake right now. Not that that has EVER happened before. The only drinks I like to mix are the alcoholic variety. But still. I am SO not a runner, I decide.
By the time I finish this little chat I've usually made it to the end of my run. Suddenly I remember why I got on the treadmill in the first place - to feel better about myself and work towards a goal I thought impossible to obtain.
On mornings like today, when I find it hard to even get out of bed in the first place, I am convinced I am not a runner. Runners pop out of bed, wide-eyed and bushy tailed, at 5:30 in the morning. Runners run 6-7 days a week. I run 4. I am not a runner. And today I am especially not a runner because it appears I have done something wicked to my lower back. Seriously, you guys. I'm hurting. Which is most definitely not fun at all.
I decided to throw on something soft and easy this morning. My back was begging for something unstructured and loose. Thankfully, my closet held the perfect pieces.
Initially, I started running for the challenge of it. I'd never participated in team sports, or any sport for that matter. I hate getting all sweaty. I adamantly refuse to wear workout clothes in public. I could never, ever be one of those chipper energy-gel slugging women in matching Nike sports bras and Tempo running shorts (by the way, what the HELL is the mystique with those things? Yesterday at Starbucks I saw high school girls wearing them layered with leggings and Uggs. Layered. With Uggs.) But I digress. I longed to be toned, and strong, and knew running could bring about those results. Even better, running has an additional benefit - it reduces my anxiety and stress. When I run, I have lots of time to think. I can let my mind wander and all the stress of my world fades away.
But occasionally my thoughts turn negative. Sometimes I truly question the existence of that elusive "runner's high," the mythical release of happy jolly endorphins that supposedly warm your body like crack. When I start to feel fatigued, usually around mile 1.5, negative thoughts creep into my head. I realize I'm having some sort of identity crisis. I think, what the hell am I doing here? Do runners think this is fun? I must not be a runner! You know what's fun? Lounging on the couch, watching bad reality TV all night and gorging myself with a gigantic bowl of butter and salt-drenched popcorn. Or sitting at a bar slugging Maker's Mark and laughing with friends until my throat hurts. Now that's fun!
I keep running until I reach mile 2. Runners adore this, I think. They love to persevere and push themselves. Don't get me wrong; I love this feeling too. But sometimes I really feel like I'm going to die. Or suffocate. This is hard. I must not be a runner.
Mile 2.5. My mind continues to wander. I'm hungry. What's for lunch? Uh-oh. I must not be a runner. Runners eat energy bars and protein shakes. I like shakes too, but the chocolate ice cream kind. As a matter of fact, theoretically, I could be in my kitchen making a shake right now. Not that that has EVER happened before. The only drinks I like to mix are the alcoholic variety. But still. I am SO not a runner, I decide.
By the time I finish this little chat I've usually made it to the end of my run. Suddenly I remember why I got on the treadmill in the first place - to feel better about myself and work towards a goal I thought impossible to obtain.
On mornings like today, when I find it hard to even get out of bed in the first place, I am convinced I am not a runner. Runners pop out of bed, wide-eyed and bushy tailed, at 5:30 in the morning. Runners run 6-7 days a week. I run 4. I am not a runner. And today I am especially not a runner because it appears I have done something wicked to my lower back. Seriously, you guys. I'm hurting. Which is most definitely not fun at all.
I decided to throw on something soft and easy this morning. My back was begging for something unstructured and loose. Thankfully, my closet held the perfect pieces.
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| Forever 21 blazer; Forever 21 blouse; thrifted Paige jeans; Forever 21 oxfords; Forever 21 necklaces; Hype bag (I might be smiling in this pic, but believe me when I say that I'm hurting bad. Hence the bendy hunched-over pose.) |
