This summer, I will become a runner. Maybe.
Who knows? You might see me running in charity races, marathons or running along a city street or sidewalk. Maybe not.
If so, you may honk your horn at me. But I’ll be in my runner’s zone.
Frown intact. Legs pumping. Heart thumping. I can’t wave because I’m running and oblivious to everyone not running.
If I’m running, I will be wearing $150 sneakers with air soles, and Adidas shorts above my knee, and have that cool black band around my bicep to monitor my pulse.
Yep. Someday I want to be a runner.
Except there’s one very big, slow, flat-footed, sore-kneed, unmotivated problem.
I hate to run.
I hate to run more than I hate jazz music.
I hate to run more than I hate a loud muffler in the neighborhood when I’m sleeping in on a Saturday.
I hate to run more than I hate to watch NASCAR or World Cup soccer on TV while others tell me how fantastic it is.
I hate to run more than I hate talking politics or religion at a party, or listening to a motivational speaker try to motivate me when there’s a TV next door with the ballgame on and the score is tied.
I hate running more than reality TV shows about unrealistic housewives, or celebrities trying to get a job at Donald Trump’s company, music with cusswords in the lyrics, or being reminded that I’m not smarter than a fifth-grader.
I hate running almost as much as I hate the Cubs but a little more than the Brewers and Red Sox.
I want to be a runner but I hate to run.
I face this dose of reality every spring when the weather turns warm, and the nights are longer, and baseball begins, and the parks and streets are once again filled with joggers, walkers and bicyclists.
A few Sundays ago, more than 15,000 runners gathered in downtown St. Louis for the annual St. Louis Marathon, on a gloriously wonderful Sunday morning. I didn’t run, of course. I played golf instead.
One of the better things about golf is you don’t have to run unless you hit the ball in a yard and you’re running away from that dog you didn’t see under the back porch.
I watched the coverage of the marathon on the TV news and in local newspapers, and I swore yet again that I’d become a runner this summer.
Within a day of my pledge to run, I was making excuses and being reminded that I need personal motivation to run.
Like a mean trainer with a big whip behind me.
Like I’m 17 years old again and a coach is screaming in my ear that if I don’t finish the laps, I won’t start the big game.
Like being chased by a big, mean, salivating dog with a broken chain around his neck.
Like the voice on the loud speaker in an airport gate announcing, “Last call. Boarding Flight 1101 to St. Louis. The doors are closing in one minute.” And I’m two minutes away from the gate.
Like when I’m entering the airport security checkpoint and I realize my cellphone is in the front seat of the rental car.
It’s not like I ever liked to run and age erased my desire. I didn’t like to run when I was young and could run because I was in shape. Sure, I ran when there was a reason to run. But run just to run? Let’s play ball.
Even then, I was OK with the sprints but not the long distances. I always figured you ran short distances. But they invented cars and bicycles for the longer distances.
Today, I enjoy long walks and bike rides outdoors. Indoors, I’m amazed at people who can run miles and miles on a treadmill. The scenery never changes on a treadmill. I feel like a hamster in a cage, stuck on that revolving wheel.
For every good reason to run, I can come up with an excuse not to run.
Running is good for your health. But did you hear about that 50-year-old guy who died jogging?
I bought new running shoes. But it looks like rain so I don’t want them to get wet or muddy.
I’ll start running tonight or tomorrow morning. But I don’t want the neighbors to see me gasping for breath because they may panic, worry and call 911.
Running is good for my heart and lungs. But it sure hurts my knees and feet. For the record, I didn’t start running after I watched the marathon nees reports on TV. From experience, I know if I delay running long enough, the temptation will pass as it has every other spring of my life.
While others run this summer, and look good and feel good with their special runner’s glow about them in their runner’s shoes and short shorts, I’ll probably play some golf, ride my bike, walk the dogs.
Truly, I respect and admire all you runners out there.
I wish I were you, really.
If only I didn’t hate to run so much.
No comments:
Post a Comment