Besides my wardrobe, there are other hints (or blatant knocks upside the head) that make it obvious that I am not yet a real runner. Here, the top 3:
1. I head out today in the cool, rainy, windy misery in what I would consider more hiking shoes than running ones. I am thinking of all the mud on the trails when I grab them. Now, after said run, all I can think is SHIN SPLINTS SUCK ASS.
2. I went and bought (yes, more money spent) a more runner friendly water bottle. Plastic with sports cap style rather than my trendy Sigg one that was awkward to hold, cold on the hand and required a full stop before drinking if I didn’t want water all over my face. But plastic (recycled and biodegradable or not) retains horrible smells. I have washed, rinsed, washed, rinsed and repeat several times before my first run.
Still, I pound back my water full of Palmolive dish soap, gag and spit, Palmolive gulp, gag and spit, rinse and repeat. I think my face looks something like it does upon exiting an outhouse though I can’ t be sure since I was the only runner (aka crazy person) out today to see me. At any rate, I pass the time running by daydreaming about all the toxic ingredients I must be ingesting.
Palmolive Kills Crazy Person! read the headlines.
Only to decide that it probably isn’t as toxic as that Reece Peanut Butter Cup Bar I had last night. Oddly, this makes me feel better.
*Note to self- Never again read ingredient or calorie count while ingesting delicious bad-for-you-crap. Live in denial. It’s more delicious that way.*
3. My run today was 3 minutes run/ 1 minute walk, 9 times. I am running along the dike on my third run portion when I decide I can turn back, take that one extra trail on the way home, and that would get me back home. Only I get to the extra trail portion and I’m only on the sixth run portion, not eighth. If this is not making any sense, know this: Math is not my forté.
Don’t you just love the word forté? Can you ever use forté in the positive. As in ‘Running is my forté!’ Unless you want to sound like a pretentious wanker, I am thinking not. I digress. On purpose. Because the fact that I thought half of 9 was 3 is pathetic. While this has absolutely nothing to do with how I am not yet a real runner, I still blame running. I think each pound of the foot sends my brain southward. Like into my shins or something since all my brain wants my fingers to type right now is SHIN SPLINTS SUCK ASS!