So I recently got started on this whole running thing. It started out last year actually. After seeing some of my friends (Noelle, and a bunch of other people not on the internet) join a couple of marathons, I idly mused about the possibility of doing it myself just to see what it would be like. Apparently, the Universe heard me, and is holding me to that promise. I swear, the Universe has no sense of humor whatsoever. Also, arms; but that’s not the point of this post.
Anyway, running didn’t appear to be all that hard. I mean, I have been running since I was born (after food, away from dogs; then when I got older, away from cops). But then when I got started on the treadmill, no amount of imaginary burgers or hotdogs in front of me could get me to run for very long. So I had to redefine running to be “the act of walking at a pace fast enough to feel a slight breeze, but slow enough not to cause me any physical discomfort.”
I’d spend an hour or two working out like that and I was OK. (Let it be said that I have also redefined working out as “the act of spending the minimum amount of time in the gym so as not to let my gym membership go to waste, while not doing any real working out whatsoever.” I guess these months of “working out” at the gym have deluded me into thinking I was ready to join my first run.