"All words are symbols that represent unspeakable realities. Which is also why words are magical." (Donald Miller tweet)

Monday, March 29, 2010

models vs me

Yesterday was the Around the Bay Race (slogan: "older than Boston") in my town. It's the Sunday when I get up extra early to get to work, because although I live only 3K away, several intersections along the way simply ... close ... for the race.

Which is fine. I get that.

The Bay race inspires me. Last Sunday, I told myself, "OK, on Monday, you get up and run, you lazy, good-for-nothing, so-and-so." But it was raining. And I was tired. So I slept in instead.

Yesterday, I said, "Wow, Self, isn't it EXCITING that you can run tomorrow?" I even checked the weather channel to see what early morning would be like today. And I AM up. Thanks to a non-drowsy Claritin on Saturday (I have NO TOLERANCE for drugs) and Easter weekend coming up, I jerked myself awake 14,703 times last night, finally giving up and getting up at 6:15 this morning.

But I am NOT going outside. I'd rather stay inside and whine about my sore throat and runny nose and busy week.

Yesterday, we went out for lunch, and in came a group of runners, all proudly displaying their race paraphernalia, looking vibrant and alive. They had just finished the 30K. They looked like running-wear models, with their bouncing ponytails and fresh lipgloss and matching jackets.

Which brings me to the real purpose for this post. I need you to know something. In the event that I ever do manage to strap on my running shoes again, and even *gasp* do a race of some kind, you should know ... I can't go to a restaurant when it's over.

For at the end of a race, no matter how good I feel, no matter how great my time was, no matter how much I trained ... I do not look vibrant and alive. I am a sweaty, red-faced pile of gross that looks like she is about to drop dead, right there on the spot. I don't look like that DURING the race. I look like that AFTER the race.

And I stay looking like that for a solid hour or more.

Trust me, nobody wants to see that for Sunday lunch.