Let me say first of all, I don't run. I don't like to run. I don't get a runner's high. The only thing going through my head when I'm running is "I'm dying. This is the end of me. I hope my affairs are in order because I'm going to drop dead any minute." In fact, the concept of running seems so asinine to me that when a friend or acquaintance says to me "Oh, I ran 5 miles today." I almost always reply, "Why? Was someone chasing you?!"
That's why this idea seemed so ridiculous. I mean, I go through my crazy gym phases, I have been up and down so much in the weight department you might call me the poor man's, white Oprah. You might, but you probably won't. So as far as a workout kick, I'm certainly not in one now. When this half marathon ridiculousness was presented to me my initial response to this proposal was "Oh, I won't be turning 30 til next December, so... No thanks!" (Sorry Tink, I'm the baby. But you're right, you're way more of a grown up!) But the more I thought about it and the more I was talked into it, I realized this is a great way to usher in the next decade of my life.
The truth is, it's always been my secret wish to be a runner. I have magical visions of myself in capri stretch pants and a racer back tank top with the sports bra built in. I have on super expensive, molded to my feet running shoes and an ipod filled with peppy remixes all at 165 bpm. My hair is in a bouncy ponytail and I am running through some fantasy park with seemingly endless endurance. I'm dripping with sweat, but am such a fit and well conditioned machine that I could go on for miles more! But alas, I just get so bored! I don't have someone driving me to the finish line. In a dance class I always did extra crunches or across the floors and did the combination at the end of class as many times as possible. I worked for 3 summers at theme parks doing insane dance shows in ridiculous amounts of heat in front of ungrateful audiences. I was happy to do it! Not to mention our old high school colorguard days. Hours and hours in the blistering sun. How did we ever do that?! We still had energy to burn! But running... if there's no one around for me to beat, I just don't care. It all boils down to one thing. I need an audience. There, I said it.
Is it sad and shallow to need a competitor to excel? Maybe. Should I learn how to push myself on my own and strive to achieve my personal goals? Probably. Will it happen by the end of February 2011? Yeah, I doubt it. However, Disney is the ultimate motivator. I feel like running through the magic kingdom with a tiara and glittered up tennis shoes is an amazing way to bring my two dreams together. My fantasy as a champion endurance runner but dressed in costume with Disney characters cheering me on. It's perfect.
So here I am. Registered, running and regretful. I still feel like I've made terrible mistake and I might just die on Main Street USA (though we all know I won't be pronounced dead in the park...) but I'm in it. It's a small consolation that I'm not in it alone. So, when I finish a run (or "boisterous walk with flair" as Michelle classifies them) and I'm disgustingly sweaty, hyperventilating and so sore I can't even get up the next day and one of my smart ass friends says to me "You were running? Who was chasing you?!" I can say to them "Cinderella. She's running in glass slippers, she's turning 30 and she's pissed."
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