I'm not opposed to the crushing of all dreams, per say...just the bad ones. Unfortunately for me, those are usually my dreams. Case in point-my recent endeavour to run a half marathon. I have lied to you (*and if I don't personally know you, I'm not the best of liars but will do it from time to time). I have lied to you by letting you think I'm an uber runner. The truth, whole truth, and nothing but it-I DO enjoy to run but uber isn't a word to describe me. Unless you are talking about cupcakes. Then it fits...well....mmm..cupcakes....
Anyway (wiping drool), the REAL reason why I got into running (*besides words like "chubby" from someone who may or may not remain nameless) is because my 16-year-old-not-chubby-in-my-own-mind-self was in love with a boy. A boy who did cross country. Note: I did not join cross country to lose the chub I wasn't aware I had, but rather to spend time with said boy.
At first, it began with 10 minute jogs that left my breathless and covered in sweat. Not attractive, especially for someone trying to attract the opposite sex. But, the sweat dried up and I began to get better (*long process). The better I got, the more attention I got. Not from said boy who ended up being gay (*that's a whole other psyche ruiner), but from everyone else. My fit physique got me noticed. By other boys that were straight. So I continue to run and continue to "enjoy" it- 75% of the time...
Well, this "enjoyment" leads me to the challenge extended of a half marathon. I've done 5Ks up the yin yang and even thrown in a couple of 15Ks-so what's a couple more miles?!
Set the scene now 8 years after my cross country debut:
Morning of 1/2 marathon is a gorgeous spring in the winter Phoenix day. Thousands of people are gathered to run and thousands more are the cheerleaders. Even John McCain was there (*don't get me started)! The first few miles (6 to be exact) were what I remembered from the cross country days of my youth-easy, feet floating, enjoying the crowd. I look at my watch and am pleased with my athletic self. Cupcake who, I'm a bad ass! Well, that is until mile nine. The stomach turned (*medical professionals should read ischemic bowel) and the feet gained all the weight. I managed to drag my ass the rest of the way there. At mile 12, people cheered for me (*and or the other 24,000 participants) and told me the finish was just around the corner. Liars-I HATE you all. As I crawled to the finish (*crawled=10+ minute miles), I reached Aaron and my mom but then regained by speed as I ran to the port-o-potty (*sub 8 minute mile time, I'm sure). Needless to say, my belly would rather be full of cupcakes than ischemic for two hours.
I survived and you can't take it away from me....but I'm going to crush your dreams, right now. If words like ischemic and bowel won't scare you off from running, this will...look at the horror in my dogs face (*Author's note-I got a new dog!!! Isn't he adorable?!).
(**Author's note-I don't believe I was chubby, but I've ALWAYS believed that I have ugly feet, don't judge me)
