When you tell a friend you went for a run and their response is something along the lines of “no really what did you do this morning?” It becomes clear that going running (or any physical activity other than yoga for that matter) is as rare of as a two-dollar bill or a good thing happening after midnight. Well aware of that fact, I put on my hot pink sweatband, yellow neon t-shirt and long black yoga pants (clearly called yoga pants and not running pants for a reason) and embarked on my journey into the neighborhood for my jog attempt number one.
With the Daft Punk playing at a deafening level, I was pumped, I felt like I could run to California. Talk of triathlons and marathons seems to have been abundant around me the past few days, it seems everyone I know is training for something whether it’s a half-marathon or beating a mile time in time for soccer season, it puts my goal of jogging around the block into perspective rather quickly.
As I walk out the door, I decide to lose the sweatband and replace it with some sunglasses making me more incognito and less like the girl version of Richard Simons. It is very possible I am the healthiest person on earth, I haven’t so much as coughed in over three years, how hard can a jog around the block a few times be? Hard. I quickly remap my jogging territory since I figure I should run through the path in my neighborhood so trees will surround me and deter any of my fellow pedestrians from catching a glimpse of my jog attempt. I find the path much creepier than I remember, but in retrospect the eerie path became my ally forcing me to run faster for fear the kidnappers in my mind are chasing me but I can’t hear them gaining on me because all hear is “music’s got me feeling so free, we’re gunna celebrate, celebrate and dance so free…” Before the song ended I had made it through the path, a tell tale sign of how short my jog was.
Inhaling deeply felt like someone was punching me in the chest, still feels that way now actually. As a biker rolled by I quickly bent down pretending to tie my shoe, although I really wanted to lie on my back right there in the street for at least five hours regardless of who was passing. Fortunately, I came back to reality realizing that was not an option and made my way home. Across the street I saw a young kid driving his John Deer play tractor and seriously considered begging him for a ride.
Finally I was home and everything from my lungs, to my feet, to my On-the-Go playlist were completely exhausted. Obviously, I’m not running a marathon, or even a mile anytime soon, but as long as my legs allow I might as well use them. Although my accomplishment is humble in comparison, when I took the step onto my driveway I felt like I had just crossed the finish line in the New York Marathon.