Keepin' it real

Saturday's run kicked my ass. Period.

I had mapped out a new route that was 4.5 miles. I kept it very close to home, which was my goal, and felt like it would be a pretty simple route.

The idea was that I'd run up (or is it down?) the long road running perpendicular to my own street. I would take each and every neighborhood road on the left side of that street, since all these were dead ends or horseshoe roads, I would run down each and back out again to the main road, which would exponentially increase the distance between my house and the end of that main road. The route would continue up the main road in this way until I reached the end, and then I'd turn around and run back home. Simple, right?

Turns out that almost every single one of those "little side roads" was a fairly steep hill. It was great running INTO them, as they were downhill, but of course I had to run back out, meaning I was running up a fairly steep incline. After the 4th or 5th "little side road" I thought I might die. I was having more than second thoughts about my great new route and I was having more than second thoughts about my running. I angrily told myself that I was nothing but a "poser," and I had no business pretending to be a runner.

In that weird, dazed state I daydreamed about having a heart attack and never making it back home. I passed a single black shoe (which looked remarkably like one of a pair I had donated to the American Kidney Fund last month) on the side of the road and imagined pieces of me being picked apart by scavengers; my running shoes, my ipod, my wedding rings, etc. The paper would have a write up about it, "Local mom dies of heart attack while on new running route." There would be some long-winded deal about how important it is to "stop when your body tells you," and how shocking that someone younger than the age of 40 would die of a heart attack....

Just then I noticed a woman walking her big and very hairy black dog. The dog must have been some sort of sheepdog, because its eyes were covered with long shaggy bangs. As I got closer I noticed that the dog saw me and stopped in its tracks. The lady tried and tried to get the dog to follow her (down one of the side roads), but instead the dog sat, allowing her to choke it with its leash. As I neared and the dog continued staring at me I said, "Gosh, do I look that bad?" And the lady replied, without missing a beat, "No, she thinks you look that good!" I laughed, thankful for the distraction. And ran past. I knew I looked like hell. I could feel it. And I'm sure the dog could sense it as well. It's been well documented that dogs can sense impending seizures, death, panic attacks, etc. Even this strange dog knew I was about to keel over.

My face was beet red; my hair had partly come free of the half ass pony tail I had thrown it into; I was wearing old, dirty cut off sweat pants and a shirt. I had just been daydreaming about my own death, caused by running. Mm hm I was looking good for sure.

But I did not stop. I was the Little Engine That Could, chugging "I think I can I think I can I think I can...."

When I finally made it back to my street I could only repeat, "thank god, thank god...." over and over. I had made it. I was done. It was over. Until the next time........

"I thought I could I thought I could I thought I could....."

I'm not aware of too many things
I know what I know, if you know what I mean
Philosophy is talk on the cereal box
religion is a smile on a doll
I'm not aware of too many things
I know what I know, if you know what I mean
Do ya?
Shove me in the shallow water
before I get too deep
What I am is what I am
are you what you are, or what?

What I am - Edie Brickell & The New Bohemians