5 Days Running

And I mean that title not only in the literal sense of running but also in the sense of consecutive days. Yes, I have been out running for the past five days, all in a row. That is more than I've done in a very long time. The last time I ran a lot, I was in a whole different decade of my life. I was many pounds thinner. My knees cooperated with me much better. But it's time to get back to what helped me be thinner and healthier then. I got on the scale the other day and saw a number that I had vowed to myself I was never going to see again. And yet there I stood. Why is it that the vows we make to ourselves (think New Year's Resolutions) are the easiest ones to break? We honor promises to mere acquaintances but we don't honor those made to the person with whom we are most intimate, ourselves. That has to stop so I am hauling my sorry butt out the door kicking and screaming and running again.

And you know it wouldn't be me running without ridiculousness ensuing, right? So far in the past five days I have had running tights that tried to fall off my hind end, causing me to attempt to give myself a wedgie about every five feet, at least until I was sweaty enough for them to stick permanently; I have almost stepped on a small snake (what is it with me and wildlife that needs to stay in the wild and quit scaring me anyway?!); I have been breezed past by a running neighbor who paused momentarily and fell back to chat with me before looking at her watch, realizing just how badly I was tanking her run, and racing off again; I have had to fight the urge to stop running and cry when Jeff Buckley's Hallelujah came on the iPod in the middle of the run instead of the end where it once was, long ago when a much fitter and faster me created the playlist specifically for my runs; and just today I had to deal with swirling winds that managed to blow as headwinds each and every time I faced a hill. I still don't believe in omens but if I did, I'd say that someone up there agrees with my chiropractor, who told me on Monday that I shouldn't be running, or at least not running on streets. I love Dr. George, but he just doesn't understand how hard it is to push my butt out the door and do this. Adding in driving to a track (boring) or the Greenway just to have a softer surface to run on would likely end up with me running errands in running clothes, not running in running clothes. And with that number on the scale and the strangulation hold of my pants around my middle, well, we just can't have that.

I have been alternating my mileage between short and shorter these past five days. No need to make myself hurt so badly I never want to see my Asics again, right? And this morning I'm pretty sure I looked fantastic on my run. You know all those women who go to the gym wearing makeup? I admit I have been very judgy about them in the past. But today I ran in makeup so I felt extra glamorous about exercising. Ok, not really. I put on makeup (mainly just eye stuff) last night for a charity do we went to because I thought I should wear at least as much eyeliner as my twelve year old son had on. (He's currently Cubby the Lost Boy in the his middle school's production of Peter Pan and he seems to like eyeliner about as much as I do, which is to say not at all but he'll have to wear it again tonight and I won't. The benefits of being a grown-up!) In any case, when both T. and I went to wash the makeup off, we both discovered that soap was not adequate and since I really never wear makeup, I had nothing better to work with. Hence both of us still had on eyeliner this morning when we woke up. Not sure how that's going to fly today at school for him but in my case, it made for a cosmetically enhanced run that ended with me looking like a demented powder puff football player with eye black streaking down her cheeks. Soap may not budge eyeliner but sweat sure does! Not that I ever expected to win any fashion awards while running (or any time, really). And now I'm not so judgmental about other women working out in makeup. Maybe they too just didn't manage to get it to come off before their morning workout. Unless, of course, they aren't sporting bedhead with the made-up face. In that case, well, I still find them suspect. They're probably the women who claim they don't sweat too. (Liars.)

The temperature here is dropping like a rock and we're heading into the ten pound plus holidays but it's the right time to work on me again. Hopefully this time I can keep my vow to myself. I don't think I'll keep up the eyeliner thing, I fervently hope the snakes have all hibernated for the winter, and with a little bit of luck my pants will stay on my butt but you'll continue to see me plugging around the streets (sorry Dr. George), ideally losing weight under my seventeen layers, and even continuing to share the misadventures that are bound to follow.