Tales of running from a non-interested runner

I feel like I’m the only person on the planet who isn’t excited about running.

Seriously, half the people I know are running half marathons.

I’m a band wagon jumper so I figured, hey! I obviously need to be part of the in crowd. Everyone’s doing it. And, after all, my dad was ranked 53rd in the nation when he ran cross country in college. Genetically, this is where I need to be.

I’ll tell you what. After three sessions of walking/jogging, I fail to see the appeal.

I’m just not excited about it. It makes my legs hurt. My feet are not big fans of all the attention. Maybe…maybe if I had somewhere to run other than loops around the backyard? Maybe if I was running away from zombies? Even with the zombie factor in mind, I still get the suspicion that my slowness would get me (shout out to The Walking Dead fans) “Otis-ed” early on.

I would, however, run in the “Run for Your Life” zombie marathon. As a zombie. I base this on four factors:

1. Professional makeup artists
2. Free beverage
3. Free T-shirt
4. Option to be a slow, lumbering zombie

I can do slow and lumbering. Just ask anyone who watched me walk in heels this past weekend.

I think my dreams of having the side hobby as a jogger are pretty well done. As in, “stick a fork in me, I’m done.” No more fantasizing about jogging around Gettysburg (no thanks, I’ll walk) or joining the Navy (I cannot stay of their website!). I don’t need jogging shoes. Nope. Pass the flip flops and a diet Mountain Dew. Should I run into the enigma known as “spare time,” I feel as if I’d rather meet it sitting down. Or at least, not with cramped up calves.

And on a side note, despite working out, I still have cankles. The lack of definition in my legs is astounding. The more “toned” I get, the more chicken leggy I become. And really, does muscle really need to weigh more than fat? I’ve got the start of a six pack, but my scale acts like I’m smuggling an entire keg under my shirt. Unfair. Decidedly unfair.



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