Alicia and Powers are signed up to do a half marathon. They signed up to voluntarily run 13.1 miles. Kevin’s always wanted to do one. And then there’s me. And in case you have forgotten – I HATE RUNNING.
In fact, here it comes – I hate all exercise. I hate sweating. I hate panting. I hate forgetting the anti-chafe cream, the blisters, the agony, worrying if I’ll make cut-off (a totally unjustified fear, too) but I especially hate worrying if my boobs bounce out of the three sports bras I’m wearing. (Yes, on tri days I was wearing not one, not two, but three sports bras. Until now – I have found the holy grail of sports bras for big tits. More to come on that later.)
Yes, I like riding my road bike on flatland, but you throw a hill in that mix and I hate you and the hill. Look at how happy I am on the left, just starting my bike ride out. (ok, maybe I look more nervous than anything) That was at the BBC 33 mile bike ride in 2012. I was still so new to riding, and I got two free beers after. I didn’t know the hills were coming… On the right is me (yes, 3 sports bras) 3 months ago to the day post 30+ mile bike ride equal hills. Do you see the joy on my face? It’s overwhelming, especially since riding my bike is my favorite form of exercise. Oh, I threw in a pic of my husband on his bike, because I like eye candy when I read and those bike shorts are just…moving on! To the right is also my before and after pic of exactly one year between triathlons and my hill riding emotion hiding skills have clearly improved. The pic on the right cracks me up because I look exactly like I feel on every single hill now, but on the left – I’d just come off the same hill and don’t look like how I feel inside: dead. Either I’m getting better at hills or better at masking my emotions. I’m not sure which is healthier…
Swimming is ok, but mostly because I can’t tell I’m sweating and I have no fears of chaffing. A fear of sharks while in the open water? Yes. Eff that. I don’t swim in the Ocean. I fish in the Ocean and people catch sharks. I have caught sharks. Eff that. You will not see my big ass swimming out there like a damn seal. In the pool? Yeah, sure. In a lake? I’m still paranoid, but I do it for the triathlons.
Real talk: I honestly don’t know if I’ll ever enjoy exercise, but I understand the importance of it…and I really like being able to call myself an fathlete (fat-athlete.) I played soccer pretty competitively until I was 16. Even at the ripe age of 8 I knew I hated running so much that I took up being the Goalie.
I’d like to think that with the more weight I lose the more I’ll enjoy running, but it’s getting harder and harder to say that because there’s not a ton of weight left to lose and my run:hate ratio has not changed in the slightest.
My problem is that I like the events. I like the atmosphere. I like the feeling of “race day” morning. I like the energy. I like crossing the finish line and knowing I did it. I like feeling accomplished and “light.” I like feeling strong. So, in order to survive these events I have to train before hand or else it doesn’t end well for me. There is this vicious cycle I find myself in where I register for a race then I have to train so I don’t embarrass myself. Race finishes, I somehow get looped into doing another one and then here we are – in the cycle again.
Powers tried to talk me into doing the 13.1 Half Marathon on Thanksgiving Morning with them. The conversation went something like this:
Powers: Hey, Alicia and I signed up for a half marathon on Thanksgiving Day morning.
Me: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA more uncontrollable laughter
Powers: I’ll send you the link so you can register.
Powers: I know you’ll register. I know you’re going to change your mind. So, I’ll just send it.
Me: No. Not happening. That’s a death trap. KTHXNO.
Powers: Please. You’ll be fine. I’ll send you the daily/weekly emails from my trainer.
Me: Oh ok, but I was serious. No. It’s not happening. I hate my life when I run 6.1 miles, why in the hell would I volunteer to run 13.1 miles? ONLY so you all could spend 2 hours waiting for me at the Finish Line to then watch me crawl across it, panting and begging for the EMTs to hook an IV of Bourbon up to dull my pain. I’d rather stay home, watch the parade, sip my bourbon and take a nap. Eff that. Eff you. Eff running.
–insert awkward silence–
Powers: Ok…cool. I’ll send you the registration information.
Me: Not happening.
You get the point, folks. Guess what? That was two weeks ago and guess who still hasn’t changed their mind? This girl. I promptly went to Alicia and said, “OMG! POWERS IS TRYING TO TALK ME INTO A DEATH TRAP RUN!” Alicia said, “I know. I also know you won’t do it and it isn’t worth arguing about…so, yeah.” TRUE STORY.
Now is where my Catholic guilt sets in. FML.
While looking up their death trap run this morning (only to reference it here), I found a different run and then emailed my dear husband to say, “I will do this run. Just you and me. 10k. Thanksgiving Day Morning. Thoughts? You get a medal.” This one is 15 minutes from our house and they promise entertainment along the run. Let’s be honest, I’m in it for the medal. He told me to sign up us.
This whole event made me think about something though.
People always ask, “Do you exercise?” I always answer, “Yes.”
People never ask, “Do you like to exercise?” Because my answer would be, “HELL NO.”
Maybe I should go home and dust off my Running Shoes, especially since I just registered for two 10ks in November.