There are a lot of things I don’t like to talk about on the internet.
My brain tells me I should follow that up with examples, but then I’d be talking about things I don’t like to talk about. Then it gets confused and asks for some more marshmallows.
Last week I downloaded the Couch to 5K app. I wasn’t sure if I was going to do it or not, but one thing I DID decide was that I wasn’t going to talk about it on the internet.
You know how you aren’t supposed to blog or tweet about sleep? Like, if your kids are FINALLY sleeping through the night, you should never talk about that on the internet, because the Rule of the Internet is that things will swing back the other way and slap you in your face.
I’m not superstitious; this is just sound reasoning.
I think this rule applies to more than just sleep. The surest way for me to stop doing or start failing at something is to publicly discuss my progress. A month or two ago, I commented on a blog post of Arwen’s that I had gotten into the rhythm of cleaning the kitchen and getting all the dishes done every evening before going to bed. It was the key to getting my day off to a good start: a nice, tidy kitchen. I’d been at it nearly a month when I dared type my self-congratulatory comment, but that night? The dishes went undone.
See? THE INTERNET is to blame. Obviously.
But, you guys. I started today, and (as often happens when one actually leaves the house) I have a story to share.
The one thing that had me the most nervous about doing this wasn’t really dropping dead in the Florida heat (I went out at 7AM and it was already 85 degrees); that would be upsetting, but not the end of the world.
Well, the end of MY world, I suppose.
No, my fear was people seeing me, huffing and puffing along in my nerdy long shorts and sweaty gross ponytail, obviously laughing because HA HA EXERCISING IS HYSTERICAL.
It doesn’t actually make much sense, I know, but neither does my fear of dead insects.
My dear husband who has gone running in the mornings before (read: for about a month nearly two years ago) assured me that he rarely passed anyone on the running/biking trail near our house. Trusting him, because that is just good marriage, I went on my merry way.
I should probably mention at some point that I chose to do this without my glasses. They slip down my face and generally annoy me during any sort of physical activity, and I figured vision is overrated. This would just make me an extra badass. “Oh, you did Couch to 5k? Did you do it with 20/90 vision? THAT’S WHAT I THOUGHT.”
Dude, anyone could do that with perfect vision. What would even be the point, you know?
But I can see pretty well without them.
I made my way down the trail passing only a few people. No big deal! I can do this! As I neared where the path hits a main road (which is my turn around point, because: VEHICLES) I noticed what appeared to be a large group of people. I say APPEARED, because it was just a big fuzzy blur of white and red. I decided I’d seen just about enough of that, thank you very much, and turned back early.
I was about halfway through the (oh my! 31 minute!) workout, sweat pouring down my bright red face, when I heard the sound of hoofbeats OVER my blaring Lady Gaga. Since I wasn’t wearing my glasses, I wasn’t quite certain if they were cyborgs or zombies or just dudes who coordinate their shorts for kicks, but they were passing me at about a 7-minute pace, and they JUST KEPT COMING. Even the stragglers were outrunning me. The stragglers.
Because I knew all along that I was going to be slow, I spent my entire run/walk on the very edge of the path. Not only were they passing me on my left, they were coming around my right, running IN A DITCH, to get around me faster. And as we approached the spot on the trail that was a mile up from their gathering place, they turned around and started running back. At me. The big, blurry mob of ghostrunners. HIGH-FIVING one another.
When I got home and spat out the words “ROTC GUYS EVERYWHERE,” Matt suddenly remembered, “Oh yeahhh. I remember seeing them.”
And that, my friends, is not good marriage.