I went running yesterday. I was not desperately chasing an ice cream truck, nor was I being pursued by a bear, panther, or molester. I ran by choice. I am an honorary member of what is called the “Lindsey Watson Rickshaw Club,” which is the group of teachers from my school who exercise together after school. The name comes from an offhand joke that I made about the conditions under which I would join a running club. Since it has been so hot, the LWRC has been exercising indoors with workout videos, and I have happily participated.
Well lately the weather has been beautiful, as you fellow Central Texans know, and so the members of the LWRC have started running. Yesterday, I agreed to join them. I thought that perhaps my loathing of running was exaggerated in my mind, since it has been many years since I’ve actually tried it. I thought that the peer pressure of running with my friends would inspire me to challenge myself. I thought that the social aspect of chatting would distract me from the running itself.
Wrong! I still hate running. First of all, it was a long run. We were going to run the “Bear Trail,” which is the most famous running track in town (and which, by the way, is highly overrated. It’s just running on crowded sidewalks around campus). But our run began at school. So, yes, we ran to the Bear Trail, and I felt ready to keel over by the time we reached campus. And I was breathing so hard, I was unable to chat, and so all of my attention was focused on my own fatigue. Finally I exerted my bad influence on one flexible friend, and persuaded her to finish the run with me at a brisk walk. When we had slowed down enough for me to catch my breath and actually participate in a conversation, I enjoyed myself very much.
So, the moral of the story is, if you ever do see me running again, you better drop your gear and hightail it too, because there’s something deadly nearby.