Running in my neighborhood early in the morning can be a somewhat geriatric experience. It's sort of like hitting up the mall before it opens on a week day. You'd think this would make for a great confidence boost for someone returning to running after a nine-moth hiatus. You might envision yourself breezing past slow-moving octogenarians - a mere streak of moisture-wicking spandex in their diminishing eyesight. You might think smugly to yourself, "They won't even hear me coming!"
You would be wrong. These "old ladies" can really truck, and most of them have had Lasik and wear killer hearing aids. How do I know this? If they see you coming, or hear you coming from behind, they move kindly over to the inside of the sidewalk. This happens from about a quarter of a mile away. You see, they are operating on the flawed assumption that it is a real runner, not a portly post-partum poser, who is about to cross their morning path.
There is nothing more humbling than watching someone's great-grandmother bushwhack nobly through overgrown hedges and knowing you won't reach her any time soon. I feel the urge to call out, "Please! Don't do it on my account! I won't be anywhere near you for another ten minutes at least!"
And then when you do get within speaking range, she greets you with a cheery "Good Morning," and you huff back something like "Mornmmph" and continue to run at her for another five minutes before finally passing. It looks something like this:
You would be wrong. These "old ladies" can really truck, and most of them have had Lasik and wear killer hearing aids. How do I know this? If they see you coming, or hear you coming from behind, they move kindly over to the inside of the sidewalk. This happens from about a quarter of a mile away. You see, they are operating on the flawed assumption that it is a real runner, not a portly post-partum poser, who is about to cross their morning path.
There is nothing more humbling than watching someone's great-grandmother bushwhack nobly through overgrown hedges and knowing you won't reach her any time soon. I feel the urge to call out, "Please! Don't do it on my account! I won't be anywhere near you for another ten minutes at least!"
And then when you do get within speaking range, she greets you with a cheery "Good Morning," and you huff back something like "Mornmmph" and continue to run at her for another five minutes before finally passing. It looks something like this:
It's not just the early-morning elderly contingent that intimidates me when I run. In fact there is NO good time to go running in my neighborhood if you are an overweight amateur who wants to save face.
Mid-day is too hot. If I look funny huffing and puffing at six in the morning, that is nothing compared to the glorified walk I deteriorate to in the heat - sweat pouring off of my body as I careen by onlookers at a zippy 20 minute-mile-pace.
Afternoons? Forget about it. That's when school lets out. I am still afraid of high-school girls (I have been since high school). And the stretchy polyurethane fabric that looks so darn cute on the models in Runner's World looks downright offensive when sported by yours truly. I wouldn't wear it in front of the popular girls when I was in school...and I damn sure am not going to start now!
But early evening is by far the worst. The reason for that is because everyone you see out on the road is either a lean, yoga-bodied running goddess with an ipod shuffle wrapped flatteringly around her inexplicably well-shaped bicep, or else a well-meaning neighbor enjoying a beer while barbecuing in the back yard. And the thing that makes this the absolute worst time to run is that both goddess and griller feel the need to encourage you by calling out, "Good job! Keep it up!"
Oh the shame. Even though you know they mean well, you also know they are really thinking, "Geez, is she for real? She really has her work cut out for her! I bet she needs all of the encouragement she can get. I'd better say something positive - just as soon as she gets within shouting range!"
So yeah, there's no good time to run. It takes a whole lot of willpower and a little boy-band magic to make myself hit the road. That's right. I'm not ashamed. Though they are not NKOTB, One Direction's "You Don't Know You're Beautiful" pumping through my headphones temporarily counteracts the wide-eyed stares I imagine myself encountering as I barrel around corners any time of the day. There's something about sugary pop music telling you how awesome you are that makes you think, "Yeah - maybe I am awesome!" And the delusion lasts just long enough for me to complete my two-mile loop ;)
Mid-day is too hot. If I look funny huffing and puffing at six in the morning, that is nothing compared to the glorified walk I deteriorate to in the heat - sweat pouring off of my body as I careen by onlookers at a zippy 20 minute-mile-pace.
Afternoons? Forget about it. That's when school lets out. I am still afraid of high-school girls (I have been since high school). And the stretchy polyurethane fabric that looks so darn cute on the models in Runner's World looks downright offensive when sported by yours truly. I wouldn't wear it in front of the popular girls when I was in school...and I damn sure am not going to start now!
But early evening is by far the worst. The reason for that is because everyone you see out on the road is either a lean, yoga-bodied running goddess with an ipod shuffle wrapped flatteringly around her inexplicably well-shaped bicep, or else a well-meaning neighbor enjoying a beer while barbecuing in the back yard. And the thing that makes this the absolute worst time to run is that both goddess and griller feel the need to encourage you by calling out, "Good job! Keep it up!"
Oh the shame. Even though you know they mean well, you also know they are really thinking, "Geez, is she for real? She really has her work cut out for her! I bet she needs all of the encouragement she can get. I'd better say something positive - just as soon as she gets within shouting range!"
So yeah, there's no good time to run. It takes a whole lot of willpower and a little boy-band magic to make myself hit the road. That's right. I'm not ashamed. Though they are not NKOTB, One Direction's "You Don't Know You're Beautiful" pumping through my headphones temporarily counteracts the wide-eyed stares I imagine myself encountering as I barrel around corners any time of the day. There's something about sugary pop music telling you how awesome you are that makes you think, "Yeah - maybe I am awesome!" And the delusion lasts just long enough for me to complete my two-mile loop ;)
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