Running Scared

Let me describe my uplifting day. First wrong of the day, looking in the mirror because what looked back should only be seen on Oct. 31st. Somehow, overnight I’d scrubbed my face with coiled wires until it shone in a vibrant red hue. My egg-tooth (the crink in my nose that doubles as a gnarly pimple according to certain members of my family) had multiplied. NO this does not mean I’d developed a nest of zits, rather my nose had actually twists and turns which complimented the pile of shriveled worms lying atop my head. My eyes looked relatively normal but to determine that I had to fight the brushy tangle of eyebrows covering them. In short I appeared to be a broken clay sculpture pieced together with chewing gum.

I’m fairly certain a shower was in order. You can be certain that didn’t happen during the ten minute rush of pulling on jeans and searching for a toothbrush. I only stumbled over one pair of heels. Lucky me it was picture day at work. Even luckier, I managed to escape being in a single picture as we drove around Sugarhouse documenting every fast food joint in a mile radius. We also managed to snag shots of public domains like the library and park. Go ahead and breathe a sigh of relief that I don’t have a visual to share with you of how I looked. And again as you thankfully gaze up at heaven that you were nowhere near that part of town. A few hundred people nervously close their eyes for the night.

This is just to prep you for the real story. My acidic stomach rejected the tuna I tried to feed it (against Dr.’s orders) and I was feeling completely confident, competent and energetic. I decided to race my voyage run with Nike+. Race. As in I planned a short one miler to calibrate my stride and it was cold and people were staring; especially the coaches of a runner who doing ladders on my track. His coaches yelled, “Faster, harder, push, push, PUSH!” and I heard a gunshot.

Seriously it was intimidating because I felt the eyes of the coaches, the runner and the random spectators stopping by. Really none of you had anything better to do than watch a girl run in robotic motions as a marathon champ jaunts by her one, two, three, four times? It’s like reality TV in your backyard.

I finished my goal of a mile and slammed the breaks. My knees will throw it back in my face when I’m 40 I’m sure. Maybe I should’ve checked that finish line. Coach A stood there.

“That was a nice little run,” he commented.

HA HA HA. I wanted to say but I could barely feel my legs and they had weird red patterns blazed on them. Yes, my legs and mouth depend on each other. I only speak if I think I can run fast enough. Instead I smiled and shook my head.

“I’m slow and out of shape, but mostly slow,” I observed as if this were new knowledge.

“You did great, you held your pace,” he started. “Just keep your arms loose. You held them up for the first two laps and as soon as you got tired you dropped them and ran naturally. I mean you looked great, like a lady, but it wastes so much energy.”

OH. And I thought it was the worms in my hair. I didn’t know if I should thank him and ask for more tips or explain that I run like an idiot because I am an idiot with shooting back, shoulder and neck pain, afraid to run with ease. I smiled and nodded and walked a couple laps popping my neck every few feet.

A lady with a twitch.