After fifteen years of marriage, Hubby and I have come to accept the fact that there are certain things that we do well together, as a couple…and there are certain things that are best done alone.
As in running.
Hubby is a Hare. In other words, he runs fast.
I hate him.
He breezes through a mile in 8 minutes…and then has the audacity to not even break a sweat or be winded.
Me, on the other hand…I am a Tortoise. I run slow.
As in very, very, very, very slow.
In fact, I'm not even sure what I do can be considered "running"…I think "plodding" might be more descriptive.
And I sweat. Geesh, do I sweat…as in dripping, soaking, wring my bra out, sweat.
And winded?? Yuppers. I do more huffing and puffing than the Big Bad Wolf, and that's just from putting my spandex shorts and running bra on.
In my defense, I'm a "beginner runner" - as in, I just kinda' started…sorta. I mean, I would run here and there over the last few years, but only when I felt either seriously inspired or seriously fat. My motivation was seriously lacking, and although everything else was very "serious" - I didn't take my running seriously.
That changed this year, when I uncharacteristically
Anyway. Here I am. Training for an upcoming half-marathon in October.
WHEN I'VE NEVER RAN MORE THAN 4 MILES AT ONE TIME IN MY LIFE, LIKE EVER.
So…Hubby has decided to join me in this endeavor, which is fine, but we've agreed that we will NOT TRAIN TOGETHER.
Because, I basically hate him that he can run like a Kenyan and make it look effortless, while I pretty much suck a duck and die with every step.
So, this morning, our
Bwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha Okay, breathe Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha
Six miles. Snort.
I dreaded it. Which, according to all the Running Literature, you're not supposed to do. If you dread something, you're less inclined to do it. So I TRIED to not dread it, but trying not to dread something is like trying to convince yourself that spiders and snakes make good house pets, and yeah, ummmm, that's not happening.
So I got up early this morning in a futile attempt to beat the summer heat and humidity, struggled into my running gear and shoes, pointed out the direction that I would be running to Hubby, so that he could run in the OPPOSITE direction, thank you very much, and I took off.
And I survived.
I did it.
I even ran a faster pace than I was expecting, which tickled me to no end…not that I'm anywhere NEAR Hubby's Kenyan-like pace, but hey…a small victory is still a victory.
The Torture Plan calls for a run of SEVEN miles next weekend, so yeah. I'm already dreading it. Although I'll really, really, really try not to all week.
I'll pretend that running seven miles is like eating chocolate while frolicking with a puppy in a field of wildflowers with unicorns….