Decide to run one even though you’ve never run farther than 7k (that one time when you were in your early 20s and could run it without dying even though you had not trained and had been high the night before). Everything seems fun when you’re bored at work and looking for a distraction. And by all means, go ahead and mention your plan to your run-crazy coworker. That can only fuel the flames of your insanity.
Research training plans and come up with a weekly running schedule that involves three days of running and some 2 days of some cross-training event. Note that most training plans say to allow three months to properly train and realize you actually four. Wait to actually start running because no one likes an over achiever.
Decide that maybe yoga can be your cross-training activity and go to an occasional class.
Realize now that you have less than 3 months and finally go out for a run. Take the dog. Wear your husband’s old shorts that fit perfectly while you were pregnant. Spend most of that “run” pulling up your shorts and looking for your dog as she keeps disappearing at the park.
Repeat a few more times with different shorts.
Plan on getting a new pair of shoes but not.
Finally ditch the dog after you’re left with just 6 weeks until the run. Go out twice more. Once, even run over 5 miles (!) but kind of twist your ankle while doing it. Ignore the ankle.
During the last month, realize that you can count the number of times you’ve gone running with one hand and decide to bail. Enjoy a glorious week where finally, you’re not running and you’re not feeling terrible about it. I mean, you had that first part down all along, but the nagging feelings of guilt were kind of a nuisance before.
Mention the change of plans to the same, “I-run-marathons-in-my-sleep” co-worker. Somehow be convinced that it’s not utterly bat shit crazy to train for a half marathon in less than a month. Excitedly plan for a run/walk approach that will relieve some of the pressure. Note that said coworker is not actually running this particular race but seems confident that you can do it, despite having absolutely no idea as to your fitness capabilities (or lack thereof).
Waver a few more times, including the night before the run, when you’ve brilliantly decided to spend the night in unfamiliar surroundings, thus ensuring that your little one will not sleep. Wake up at 5:30 the morning of the run after you’ve been up from 2-4:30 putting your baby back to sleep and prepare for the hour drive up to the run start.
Sprain your thumb but figure, who really needs it for running anyway.
Barely make it in time.
Realize you’ve forgotten the little strap-on thing you thing you bought specifically for the run. So now, you have to carry your phone instead of wearing it on your arm.
Put on that fanny pack you bought for the very first time and realize that it’s not really big enough for your stuff. And that it keeps sliding down your waist. Unfortunately, you can’t tighten the damn thing because your thumb hurts. Also, you can tie your shoelaces for the same reason.
Wonder if your phobia of porta-potties will keep you from ever becoming a long distance runner.
Have to poop but see above.
Around mile 3, feel like none of this matters. That it’s a beautiful day and that you feel great. The poop feeling’s finally subsided. Your shoelaces have been nicely tucked in. The fanny pack is resting comfortably on your tummy bulge. Carrying your phone isn’t that bad. You’ve only dropped it once. There really is nothing better than going out for a run on a lovely day, surrounded by amazing wineries. Pat yourself on the back, cuz, dude, you got this!
Mile 5: notice that your ankle hurts.
Mile 6: wonder if your grungy old shoes are really built for all this running. If you’d managed to run more than 6 miles during your training, you may have recognized this sooner.
Wonder if the run will ever end. What is this, 13 miles or a million? And damn those stinky grapes.
Research training plans and come up with a weekly running schedule that involves three days of running and some 2 days of some cross-training event. Note that most training plans say to allow three months to properly train and realize you actually four. Wait to actually start running because no one likes an over achiever.
Decide that maybe yoga can be your cross-training activity and go to an occasional class.
Realize now that you have less than 3 months and finally go out for a run. Take the dog. Wear your husband’s old shorts that fit perfectly while you were pregnant. Spend most of that “run” pulling up your shorts and looking for your dog as she keeps disappearing at the park.
Repeat a few more times with different shorts.
Plan on getting a new pair of shoes but not.
Finally ditch the dog after you’re left with just 6 weeks until the run. Go out twice more. Once, even run over 5 miles (!) but kind of twist your ankle while doing it. Ignore the ankle.
During the last month, realize that you can count the number of times you’ve gone running with one hand and decide to bail. Enjoy a glorious week where finally, you’re not running and you’re not feeling terrible about it. I mean, you had that first part down all along, but the nagging feelings of guilt were kind of a nuisance before.
Mention the change of plans to the same, “I-run-marathons-in-my-sleep” co-worker. Somehow be convinced that it’s not utterly bat shit crazy to train for a half marathon in less than a month. Excitedly plan for a run/walk approach that will relieve some of the pressure. Note that said coworker is not actually running this particular race but seems confident that you can do it, despite having absolutely no idea as to your fitness capabilities (or lack thereof).
Waver a few more times, including the night before the run, when you’ve brilliantly decided to spend the night in unfamiliar surroundings, thus ensuring that your little one will not sleep. Wake up at 5:30 the morning of the run after you’ve been up from 2-4:30 putting your baby back to sleep and prepare for the hour drive up to the run start.
Sprain your thumb but figure, who really needs it for running anyway.
Barely make it in time.
Realize you’ve forgotten the little strap-on thing you thing you bought specifically for the run. So now, you have to carry your phone instead of wearing it on your arm.
Put on that fanny pack you bought for the very first time and realize that it’s not really big enough for your stuff. And that it keeps sliding down your waist. Unfortunately, you can’t tighten the damn thing because your thumb hurts. Also, you can tie your shoelaces for the same reason.
Wonder if your phobia of porta-potties will keep you from ever becoming a long distance runner.
Have to poop but see above.
Around mile 3, feel like none of this matters. That it’s a beautiful day and that you feel great. The poop feeling’s finally subsided. Your shoelaces have been nicely tucked in. The fanny pack is resting comfortably on your tummy bulge. Carrying your phone isn’t that bad. You’ve only dropped it once. There really is nothing better than going out for a run on a lovely day, surrounded by amazing wineries. Pat yourself on the back, cuz, dude, you got this!
Mile 5: notice that your ankle hurts.
Mile 6: wonder if your grungy old shoes are really built for all this running. If you’d managed to run more than 6 miles during your training, you may have recognized this sooner.
Wonder if the run will ever end. What is this, 13 miles or a million? And damn those stinky grapes.
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