I Hate to Run

Those of you who know me well, have heard me say that I will only run if someone is chasing me and only then if I think I can’t fight them.  That coupled with the title of this post will probably make me sound insane for having recently signed up for a half-marathon.

I must admit that when I bought my plane ticket for the race, I was in a bit of an emotional tailspin over the now near certain demise of my dalliance with DW (see Stalking the Dog Whisperer, Dorks Anonymous, and Self-Torture for some of the details).  The details of that will have to wait until next time, but I was not in the best of states when I decided I had to get out of the contiguous United States and run My Very First Race Ever Which Also Happens to be a Half Marathon in Puerto Rico.  It still makes me want to vomit a little thinking about it.  

I may have been seizing my own advice from Lonely Planet in needing to realize the benefits of vacation and travel with some pals, but hope that I didn’t bite off a little more than I could chew.  While it is possible for me to walk part or even all the race, the idea of a HALF MARATHON is a little intimidating – especially when I put it all in caps like that.  I’ve been ‘training’ for a little over a week and am up to 2 miles.  Only 11 more to go.  Holy crap.

But I’m actually kind of excited about it.  Terrified, definitely, but also a little excited.  I never thought I’d even attempt something like this.  I have friends that have done 5k’s left and right, a few that have done some triathlons, and one – the one who is responsible for organizing this particular trip for the half who has done two full-fledged marathons.  When this friend has described her marathons and running habit, it sometimes comes equipped with stories of toenails falling off or sending pictures of horrible cuts on her knees from falling on the side of the road.  That usually prompts me to say this is why I have different hobbies from her, as you rarely hear of yogis losing their toenails.  In less than five months, however,  I’ll be able to nod knowingly as I describe my attempt at the half, what I can only assume will include at least one trip to the side of the road to vomit and probably several times pleading with people to kill me then and there.

In addition to training for the race, I recently braved the running store to get properly outfitted at least in terms of footware.  A complete novice – I was definitely an easy mark for the salespeople, but they resisted pushing anything truly ridiculous on me.  I did run on a treadmill in my bare feet for them to analyze my running form and determine which shoes would work best.  Unfortunately the high octane guy who was waiting on me, was not as speedy as I would have liked and in the desperation of not wanting to be late for my trainer (who I knew would respond sadistically with forced push-ups and planks), I ended up rushing my way through the shoes and purchase of a “VIP” membership for discounts on all my future running purchases.  And to add to the fun, they rang a bell when they rung up my purchase and all of the salespeople applauded me as I ran sheepishly out of the store.  It felt a little silly but also kind of appropriate, like they realized how against the concept of running I have been and what a monumental and extremely bizarre decision this was.

Why do I hate running so much, you might ask?  Well, think about the last time you actually saw someone running (or God forbid, had a mirror put in front of you or a picture snapped when you were at about mile 5 or 10).  They really don’t look happy at all.  At their best you could say runners have a glow about them (the sweat) but most have the air of grim determination about them.  I have not seen myself yet while running but at least one of my gym-mates has asked me in a concerned manner if I was ok, which is never a good sign.  And I have seen myself afterward, and while I do feel pretty good when its done, that is diminished somewhat when I see that my entire face is bright red and looks as if I’ve been wandering lost in the desert of fitness for days on end with none of the benefits of thin thighs or a tight butt.

Speaking of butts, I’m feeling a little self-conscious of mine these days.  This is mainly because the same day I bought my new running shoes, my Trainer felt the need to update me on Calvin’s* affections.  Now Calvin is the same trainer who bizarrely offered me oatmeal a few weeks back (see A Tale of Too Many Trainers).  I foolishly thought his feelings had waned, but my Trainer ruined that illusion.  He decided to wait until I was face down on the hamstring curl machine thingy (that’s its technical name) and tell me that Calvin* had stopped him when he was on his way in to train me and kept pestering him, asking him who he was training next.  This was how my Trainer relayed the conversation:

Calvin*: “Which girl you training next?”

Trainer: “The girl in the pink shirt” (here’s where he explained that he didn’t want to even say my name since that was sure to start Calvin* up)

Calvin*: “Which girl?”

Trainer: “(sigh) That one.  Adrienne”

Calvin*: (pretending he doesn’t know who I am) “Adrienne?  Adrienne?  OH, Adrienne.  With the (grunting sound) padonka donk”

Here’s where my Trainer started cracking up and I started nervously laughing, almost hyperventilating.  For there are fewer positions more vulnerable at the gym than the one I was in at the time.  It was great motivation though to really work out as hard as I could and not delay the process any further.  Yep, I have now been described as having a padonka donk. Clearly I can’t start running fast enough. 

So let’s leave creepy Calvin* and return to my forthcoming trip to Puerto Rico.  I’ve definitely picked a good race to start with as this one comes equipped with stations where us running “divas” will be given feather boas and tiaras.  Few things are better than a tiara.  I have one that I keep in the living room for when I have to do something horrible like clean as it glams up the experience.  If I’m able to finish the race, I’ll also get a diva medal.  And let’s not forget the fact that I’ll be in Puerto Rico!  A few other friends will be joining us for the trip, and one has promised to alternately chase me/run in front of me with a tray of cocktails to “good cop/bad cop” inspire me to finish the race.  And my organizing friend is setting us up with some pampering at her aunt’s spa, we get to meet her family and have some bevvies and good times, and her dad has promised to lead our cheering squad. 

Now if only I could find a way to make a half-marathon something less than 13 miles…

Lonely Planet

I know it’s been like 100 years since I’ve last updated this blog but in addition to me not wanting to talk too much about DW (as its sadly confusing in determining  interest/lack of interest on his part AND I’m still superstitious and not wanting to jinx it in case something does work out), I’ve been on a delightfully wacky and weird vacation.  And the vacation got me to thinking about one of the things that does suck for singletons – traveling alone.  Now there are some of my brave compatriots out there who think nothing of jetting off on their own, to parts unknown and by the time they’re supposed to return they’ll have met friends or even love interests.  I am not that kind of singleton.  I’ve been on one mini-vacation by myself and while parts of it were fun, a lot of it was slightly depressing. 

Now, of course, I did pick one of the major honeymoon destinations for my solitary soiree, so I sort of set myself up for lonely evenings on the beach.  I decided on a work trip to Hawaii, that I would fly out a few days before my conference and travel around Oahu and stay an extra weekend and go to Maui.  The time in Oahu was fabulous as I got to hang with some of my peeps who get to live in tropical paradise, competing with tourists for mike time at the karaoke joints and eating lots of shave ice and mochi.  A couple of friends also flew out early so we drove all over the island and had mini-adventures, including kayaking and snorkeling (unbeknownst to us) in a breeding and feeding ground for hammerhead sharks.  Thankfully I didn’t find out that bit of trivia until I returned home as I had a mini freakout even two weeks after the event.  I probably wouldn’t have even stepped in the bathtub the whole rest of the time I was on island.

After the conference, some of my local pals took me out to lunch and got me a screaming mai tai before my way too short plane ride to Maui (screaming mai tai = 34 oz of rummy goodness).  Somehow I made it to the plane and after a brief nap in my rental car, set off for my tropical digs on Maui.  Now I have to say right now, that not only did I knowingly choose a site preferred by adoring and adorable honeymoon couples but I also made that decision just a few months after being dumped by my boyfriend.  Therefore I should not have been surprised when during only my 2^nd dinner alone, after a few too many tropical bevvies, I had to leave the restaurant before I started hurling my bread basket at the glowingly happy couples.  I did make some wise decisions on that trip – like deciding to take a tour of the island with a group and purposely being as friendly with my fellow tourgoers as was possible without seeming like a crazy lady.

So are the only options available to singletons to stay at home or risk making an ass of yourself singing “All By Myself” at karaoke night at your hotel in Maui?  Of course not!  The key here is to choose your travel partners wisely.  I have been so lucky in this as for it to seem unfair.  First of all, my sister is utterly fantastic.  Yes, she can snore like there is a woodland animal trapped in her nostrils, but she is off the charts on the fun-scale and she puts up with my wackiness and even my sulks (although she did threaten to leave me on an overly long road trip in the South when I lost my marbles over My Very First Speeding Ticket).  We just got back last week from an excellent excursion to Oregon with our wonderful nephews to celebrate their college graduation, and I have to say I don’t think I could have had more fun.   Hiking (I have photographic proof), breweries, waterfalls, beach, bookstores, geocaching, breweries, donuts with Cap’n Crunch on them, Saturday Market, breweries (yes that many of them and one had beer floats with vanilla ice cream in stout), cigars, wonderfully weird Portlandians, and a rental car named Clarence.   My only regret is that we were unable to get on the Cycle Saloon – a glorious contraption where a bartender is in the middle serving you beers and steering said saloon whilst patrons cycle around the city. 

If you are not blessed with fabulous family members to travel with, then you need to get a friend or two, preferably as agreeable as mine are when it comes to hitting the road and seeing some sites.  For a few years, I routinely went to the beach with some dear friends and we had so much fun and did so much sitting on our asses, that it should be illegal.  There were drinks of the day, sitting on the porch, healthful walks, boardwalk fries, and epic bouts of “There’s Your Boyfriend” – a game where every completely suitable man (or statue even) gets claimed for one of you with a shout of “There’s Your Boyfriend!” followed by raucous laughter.  We’ve also done little road trips involving gardens, wine, gambling, historical sites, and mint juleps.  Ah, juleps.  Sigh.

I have another wonderful pal with whom I’ve gone on more long distance va-cays with including Vegas Baby Vegas, New Mexico, and a shorter trip to the spa at Hershey—too  luxurious for words PLUS we got to see the Amish and I am more than mildly obsessed with the Amish (don’t ask – I don’t know why.  I just am.  To the point where I used to go to this dutch farmer’s market and try to look demure so that a young Amish man would take me away from this modern life and let me churn butter to my heart’s content).  And I’m also blessed with friends that although they’ve abandoned me and moved away, I get to go visit them and have plenty of hijinx usually involving mad-capped schemes, beverages, and tons of silliness.

Now at some point, some or even most of your friends will get hitched and/or procreate and while these are certainly joyous events, they might put a crimp on your travel plans.  Some of their spouses might not want them to travel all over the place with you or babies might need tending to and travel plans with those friends might have to be postponed.  Don’t let that keep you at home though as travel is far too fantastic to not try it every chance you get.   Start talking about some of the places you want to visit with your peeps and see who’s interested.  And if that fails, I’ve always got my bag and passport at the ready J