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.