This was the start of a conversation – and by ‘conversation’ I mean monologue/diatribe by me – last night in the car as we were running an errand of mercy for/to my son. (Said son is, for the record, going to be 24 years old next Wednesday, is 6’5″ tall, and like a good Southern Boy still calls me “Momma”. Awww . . . )
Back to my diatribe . . . Which went a lot like this:
Me: I should NEVER have started running.
Me: Because now I can’t just ‘quit’.
Me: Because that’s just not how it’s done! You don’t start something like running and then just quit. Especially when you’ve Put It Out There that you’re going to run a Full Marathon next year! I mean to ‘just quit’ – which by the way I have the perfect opportunity to do what with the being too sick to run for a month and now the month ‘off’ after my surgery next week – at this point makes me look like a big ol’ [STOP READING MOM!] pussy.
HCRP: (Keeps driving and looking straight ahead. He is wise beyond his years that one.)
Me: But this is just stupid!
HCRP: What is?
(Is he paying no attention to anything I’m saying?!)
HCRP: (Keeps driving and looking straight ahead. Again. Genius!)
Me: I mean seriously. I run and I run and I run all these *expletive deleted* miles and where do I get? Nowhere. Okay, generally back to the car, but still! It’s not like I’m going from Portland (Oregon, I realize there’s also one in Maine) to Boston with all this *expletive deleted* running!
HCRP: We could.
Me: Could what?
HCRP: Run from Portand to Boston.
Me: (Singes him with a blistering glare.)
HCRP: (Regains his senses and keeps driving and looking straight ahead.)
Me: This is just stupid. It’s a stupid sport. And now that I’ve started it I can’t ‘Just Quit’. There’s no end to it. It’s not like I’ve suffered some permanent injury that would force me to stop so I’m stuck with this *expletive deleted*.
HCRP: Well what else would you do?
Me: For what?
HCRP: For fitness?
Me: I would eat! And sleep! A lot of eating and sleeping. And hang out with friends in bars.
HCRP: That wouldn’t be very healthy.
Me: (Singes him . . . You know the rest.) That is entirely beside the point.
HCRP: Which is? (Sometimes he’s not very bright… Really.)
Me: That I really can’t *expletive deleted* quit running!
HCRP: Why not?
Me: You didn’t hear that whole ‘If I quit now I’ll look like a big ol’ weenie’ (edited for inappropriate content for my mom’s sake) part before?! Besides, if I quit now what was the point of the entire last almost year and a half of my life? And all those shoes and socks and clothes and those freakin’ high dollar, industrial strength, double-reinforced running bras I’ve spent a ridiculous amount of money on?! Huh? What about all that?!
*expletive deleted* it. I may as well keep running.
[Insert especially creative uses of ordinarily run-of-the-mill profanity.]
Of course what prompted all of this was having spent the morning sitting at a Finish Line I had originally intended to be running across.
Which wasn’t altogether bad.
It was pretty cool.
It was inspiring watching the Elite Runners cross in times I will never, ever hope to make. And they were, I might add, barely breathing heavy or sweating. Much.
It was fun watching the non-runners who would stop a few feet before the Finish Line to pose their Finish Line photos. (Costing themselves valuable seconds towards PRs… Who does that?!)
It choked me up seeing the people who – you could tell by the “I did it! Wait, I did it?!” looks on their faces – were finishing their First Ever 5Ks and Half Marathons.
Then there was the mom who had written in Sharpie on her arms and legs: My son couldn’t train for cancer. I was full-on snot-slingin’ squawlin’ when I saw that.
Really being a part – any part – of an event that raised $5.8 million for St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital. Well, how can you have a ‘bad’ time doing that?!
So I end 2012 with the following statistics under my laces:
1) I suffered from, rehabbed, and overcame my first ever sports injury. Me! *I* had a “sports injury”!
2) I was a coach for other women who were setting out on their own journeys as Runners.
3) I ran a Half Marathon! AND finished under my stated goal time.
4) And at the end of all that diatribe and deleted expletives up there – I’m going to keep on running. Because really, who wants to look like a big ol’ weenie (edited for inappropriate content)?!