My body is not made for running. I'm not putting myself down here. Need a body for making babies? Mine's the one. I've been through 36 hour labors. I had two kids at home, one before the midwives got there. (As my husband, Rob, about that one!) It was hard, it was painful, but I loved it. I've got a great body for making babies.
Need a body for dancing? I'm there. When I was young (and in shape) I could dance for hours. I used to dance guys off the floor. I've got a great body for dancing.
But running? Forget it! First off, I look silly. I run like Velma in the Scooby Do cartoons. Some people run like gazelles--beautiful, stetched out legs, power in each step. Me? Basset hound.
|Coming in for the home stretch. They captured my expression perfectly, don't you think?|
Second, I get shin splints at the drop of a hat--or the pounding of the shoe.When I was in field training in the Air Force, I used to walk around with ice packs taped to my shins. I even ran during a field day competition that way. I looked ridiculous, but I made it. When I get shin splints, my entire body complains. I can work through achy arms, I can lift weights even when my back protests. But shin splints? Whine whine whine. Why are we on our feet?
|...which is about what I tell myself when I go to the gym, anyway.|
I do run, as you know--on the treadmill, for one minute intervals, and until my shins start sending warning signals. Then, I move to the treadmill or the ladder. Sprinting is actually kind of fun, and if nothing else, the music and the people around me are a distraction from how much I bloody hate running!
However, the weather has finally turned nice--meaning 90s and 100s, with a laughable chance of precipitation--and Ryion has pulled out his latest in torture: Half-mile runs outside! He's mapped out a nice little route that starts with the temptation of the donut shop (or perhaps the reminder of why I'm pounding my feet in the first place), then along a busy street so drivers get their morning comedy (Hey, look! It's Velma! Zoinks!), then past the Maverick where you either get a whiff of gasoline from the pumps or longingly think of the sodas and goodies inside ("And no stopping at Maverick!" Ryion warns), then through the suburban neighborhoods where you dodge sprinklers, ants pouring our of sidewalk hills (where do they come from?) and people heading out to start their day in ways more civilized than sweating and listening to their shins whine. Of course, you encounter the donut shop at the end, and the smells are both motivation and torture.
And last week, we did it with 20 pound weight vests on. Needless to say, I moved to the elliptical after Day Three.
This week, Ryion put us through a grueling workout since he's closing the gym For Independence Day. I'll tell you about it next week, but I will say this: No running, and I loved it!