The most difficult part of running begins long before your actually pound the pavement. It starts when you make the decision to go for a run. Your mind has to convince not only your body, but itself, that this torture is worth it in some way. So, you set your alarm an hour earlier than you have to be out the door because God knows you won’t get up right away. You are going to wallow in your blankets and sheets trying to decide whether or not this run is actually worth leaving the warm cocoon you have nuzzled your bones into. Eventually you will sit up. Praise the Lord, you are vertical–sort of. You will look down at your chubby little stomach and frown at it. Blame the stomach. Use the stomach. Kill the stomach.
Now you have a little encouragement. Your feet might even plant themselves on the ground–or maybe they will just remain inches above–hovering like tiny UFOs over giant farmhouses. No matter where your body is, your mind is moving. This is key. You promised that you wouldn’t back out. Think about the super great profile picture you want–the one where you don’t crop any part of your body out because, damn–you look good everywhere. You’ll glance at the clock, and give yourself ten minutes. Ten minutes and you will be out that door–wait–ten minutes and you will be putting a sports bra on. Yes. That’s it. The sports bra will guarantee that you tread along that course you’ve plotted out in your mind. Why? Because they are really hard to get on and off–a good one that is. A good sports bra is tight and hardly stretches around your head or elbows, so when you get it on–you better be getting use out of it.
Ten minutes pass, the bra has been maneuvered onto your boobs, and you’ve started negotiating a shorter distance with yourself. Just when you thought it was going to get easier, a new challenge is afoot. You know you’re supposed to run 10 miles for your training program, but maybe you could get away with 5–or 3. As long as you’re moving it’s good, right? Now you have created an internal dilemma with a steamy pile of guilt. It’s kind of like when you were babysitting and stealing more food than you should have. You love ice cream sandwiches and chicken nuggets dearly, but could you really leave the family with nothing to eat for the week?
After you finally convince yourself that you are a terrible person if you don’t fulfill your obligation in its entirety, you finally lace up and head to the door. You’ve got your iPad or Zune thing that never caught on (maybe that’s why their firing all those employees…), you pop those earbuds in before lift off, and you hit play. The screen goes black, and your little running companion has died. You throw your head up toward the sky, reach your arms out in agony, and let out a baboonish yell before heading inside and definitively deciding you will post-pone your run until the universe is on your side.
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