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.
