Rhonda runs again

The next step on my quest to become the best runner in the whole wide world was here.  I had the shoes.  I also had the date.  The time.  The location.  And the night off from work.  I also had one or two excuses.

First of all, I am very independent.  Being able to just go out and run several miles, by myself, has almost kind of been a source of pride for me.  I didn’t need to work my schedule around a certain date, time, or location.  So, why bother doing the Tuesday night group run at Fleet Feet?  It’s late, I’m tired, and it’ll take gas to drive there.  Besides, I am a strong, secure, independent woman, completely content and at ease with my own thoughts to keep me company mile after mile.  I can run by myself; shop by myself; do laundry by myself; watch “How I Met Your Mother” by myself; overeat by myself; pet my cat by myself.  AND, I can refrain from making comparisons between being independent and just being single…by myself.

Besides, I don’t even look like a runner.  Yup, that’s it, I’m not going.  I don’t look like a runner.  In the mystical, magical, streamlined, short shorts world of runners, I am just not it. 

I saw this night going down in one of two ways:  I would arrive for the group run at Fleet Feet and be surrounded by the Cute Runners.  These are the girls that are short (really, “petite,” because that sounds cuter), with the high, bouncy ponytails with zero hair frizz.  They have the cutest little feet with the cutest little, bright little running shoes, two of which could easily fit into one of my canoe-sized sneakers.  They are usually found to be sickeningly sweet and despairingly fast; they can be heard having giggly conversation without the slightest bit of breathlessness or bead of sweat  while running 5-minute miles on their short little legs…also cute.

OR, I would arrive for the group run at Fleet Feet and be surrounded by the Rick Runners.  These are the middle-aged guys in the slick running jackets and complementing shorts (wait, it’s February.  Those shorts would probably be replaced with horrifyingly thin running tights).  When grouped together, these guys blend into one mass of skinny-legged, frosted haired, sunglass-wearing-even-though-it’s-dark-outside assemblage of the fastest runners on the planet.  A gold chain necklace may even be spotted.  These guys are smooth, quick, and light on conversation.  They are there for one thing only, and that’s to finish running and compare who has lost the most toenails since the week before.   

So that’s that.   I’m too tall to be cute; too wide to be fast.  Best case scenario, I would be left behind to run the cold, dark, lonely streets of Annapolis by myself, no longer able to hear the giggles from the Cute Runners over my own panting and tears.  Worst case scenario, my cup would runneth over with self-deprecating material for my blog.  Nope, this wasn’t going to happen. 

Or so I thought.

As I pulled into the parking lot at Fleet Feet this evening, it dawned on me that I was literally just here, three days before.  That Saturday, I had excitedly opened the door to the bright, shoe-filled haven of stability and cushioning.  I had taken off my clothes and stood there in all my self-conscious glory, completely naked.  Without both shoes and socks.  I had been there for one reason, and that was to buy my Newtons and become the best runner in the whole wide world.  

As much as I didn’t want to believe it, those Newtons had a magical power over me.  I saw them sitting there on my car seat.  So bright, so good.  So fresh and new.  They needed this run as I much as I did.  Sure, I could let myself down, but I sure as heck could not let my shoes down. 

I sat in my car for several minutes, not sure whether to stay or go.  I could pretend I was never there; start the ignition, turn around, and go home.  I could stop for cupcakes and bask in the security of knowing I stood no chance of encountering a Cute or Rick Runner in the safe confines of my bedroom.  Thereby giving up my goal of becoming the best runner in the whole wide world.  Or, I could suck it up and go run with them anyway.

So I ran.

       

I got the shoes

I went to bed last night planning to wake up Saturday morning at 6:30am, run 7 miles, go to the Zooma Women's Half Marathon kick-off at Charm City Run at 9:30am, go grocery shopping, and, after having been awesomely productive and super healthy on my day off of work, happily relax with my, "How I Met Your Mother" dvds.

I did wake up at 6:30am for approximately one and half seconds (or long enough to turn off my alarm and not reset it).  I did not run 7 miles, or go to Charm City Run, or go grocery shopping.  I was not remotely productive or mildly healthy.  Instead, I felt incredibly tired, worn out, somewhat sore (ironically, from a legendary workout the day before), with a horrible ache in my left foot.  I mean, I couldn't put ANY weight on it when I had to go downstairs twice to get Kit Kits and Butterfingers.

I was feeling fat, lonely, and unmotivated.  In my head I knew that my ex had already finished his weekly long run of about 100 miles with his best friends in the whole wide world several hours ago; meanwhile, I was flipping my pillow over to the drool-free side.  Since I have Saturdays off of work, I had no need to even get dressed or brush my hair.  Or brush my teeth.  In other words, it was, "one of those days." 

So it's what happened next that still amazes me to this very moment.

I blame it on cupcakes.  The best cupcakes in the whole wide world.  I really wanted a lot of them and I had every intention of driving the fifteen minutes to Queenstown to buy them.  And despite my downhill start to the day, I still felt the need to earn such a glorious and delicious treat.  But how?

I decided I would make a drive to downtown Annapolis and visit Fleet Feet, a specialty running shop.  What better way to get motivated to run and workout (tomorrow, of course) then to buy a new pair of running shoes?!  I really wanted to get a pair of Newtons, and therefore become the best runner in the whole wide world.  I just knew that once I had on a pair of "real" running shoes, I would be feeling lean, fit, and simply awesome.  Unstoppable.  Motivated.  Not at all thinking about my ex, who also has a pair of Newtons.  Not one bit.  AND, this task was just productive enough to earn those cupcakes.

It was actually a very beautiful day outside, and I found Fleet Feet pretty easily.  The drive put me in a pretty good mood, and not getting lost made me feel even better.  Before I left I even changed out of the shirt I wore the night before (only because I found a large stain on it), brushed my hair, AND brushed my teeth.  The rest of my appearance was subject to comment.

Anyway, I went into the shop and was immediately greeted by a tall, thin, very blonde employee.  He was a nice guy.  I told him I wanted Newtons, and fell in love with the fact that he was wearing those very shoes.  He asked me if I had ever bought running shoes before.  I told him about the marathon I ran in 2010 and name-dropped Dr. Mark and Two Rivers Treads (Yes, I was there!).  Due to having an unexpectedly pleasant conversation with another human being of the opposite sex, I was wishing I had taken the time before I left home to inspect for food in my teeth, spray on some Bath & Body Works, and lose 10 pounds.  But I guess I just had to go with it.

The next thing that happened was a first for me.  Little did I know that specialty running shops like to measure your feet.  Without shoes on.  And without socks on.  I won't elaborate too much on this, only that the feeling of sheer panic of being asked to take off my socks for a cute-but-still-a-stranger person to touch my bare-naked feet makes me want to get a weekly pedicure, just in case.  At one point he commented that I didn't have any bunions.  I took that as a compliment.

But that stuff isn't important because the rest was quick and magical.  I got the shoes.  And oh the possibilities!  My excited little mind envisioned myself running along the Eastport Bridge, gliding easily down the streets of Annapolis, my bright little Newtons little beacons calling out, "She's a real runner!"  Yes!  I would be confident enough to find running partners who would look at my Newtons and know I was one of them!  I wouldn't think about my ex in his Newtons, with his best-friend-running-buddies-that-always-got-first-priority, because I'd be too busy with my running buddies in my Newtons!

And I would never get injured!  My perfect form would look simply effortless to the cars driving by!  And it would feel effortless!  I would PR in the half marathon in these shoes, possibly train for another marathon!  I would be thin and lithe and be one of those people that are told, "You look like a runner."  I would buy cute running clothes and donate the big, billowy, form-hiding, cotton tee-shirts of my non-Newton past!  I wouldn't eat Kit Kats and Butterfingers for breakfast and I would always be productive!  I would wake up before the alarm goes off because I'd know my Newtons would be waiting!  And I would never again have, "one of those days!"  My new shoes would not allow that!         

Just the thought of possibly owning these shoes got me out of the house this morning, and now they'll get me everywhere else I want to go!  These shoes are mine, and I simply do not want to think that my new little Newtons are capable of anything less. 

I got the shoes!

And then I got the cupcakes.