So, I joined a Running Club. I choose to use caps when describing the Running Club because to me, it's very important...and the fact that I actually joined and participated, is monumentus.
The first night, the gang of running girls...all from different backgrounds and walks of life...decided on a "quick" run because they were eager to drink beer afterwards. I'm thinking...oh yeah...I've found my niche, my buds, my soul mates in friendship. Little did I know, that "quick" meant Jackie fucking Joyner Kersey sprinting of exactly 3.8 miles! I almost quit right then and there, but they started off and I felt compelled to follow. Plus, one of them had a huge dog with them, I thought, how bad can it be?
From the starting point on all I could see was in shape booties and pony tails flapping in the wind. I claimed I liked taking up the back, just in case, you know, maybe someone tried to grab one of them, would be good to have a witness. Also, I didn't want to show them up...first day of RC and all. Plus, I've been on a major grapenut diet, would not make a favorable impression on my new friends to give them a fart filled tailwind. They were so sweet though...during the run they would turn around and run backwards to make sure I hadn't died...circle blocks once or twice waiting for my fat ass to catch up, etc. One even claimed she didn't want to sprint, ah hem, run that night so she would walk along side me while I ran. I must act delusional while running too... at one point I was so twisted around from running different streets I breathlessly yelled ahead and asked where we were...they answered, Beverly. No freaking duh, Beverly...I know what town I live in for crying out loud! Do I look like I no longer recognize where I am from?
By the end of those 3.8 tortuous miles I felt like my legs were filled with lead, my feet made of cinder blocks and thought I just may cross the finish line with poop running down my leg...just like you see at the marathons! I tasted blood in my mouth and had to walk the last couple of blocks.
Still I feel an amazing sense of accomplishment for those few measly miles. Not bad for an old goat who's 50 lbs over weight and hasn't worked out for over 4 years.
So if you see pack of skinny chicks running on a Wednesday night, pull over, wait 5 minutes and honk to the one that looks like she's trying REALLY hard. It just may be the newest member of the Running Club.
