Ok, just can it.
I’m talking to you, all of you Magua-style runners out there, who revel in running in the rain, “dodging droplets” and such. Just skip this post altogether because I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear about how you leap from under your duvet to the south of precipitation pounding like a cat on a hot tin roof, anxious to muddy your Asics with filthy-wet badges of “honor.” I also don’t want to hear about that one time when you felt just like me (lethargic, lazy, sluggish, reluctant, inert, and DRY) but somehow something from somewhere deep inside you made you lace up and jog and how you couldn’t believe it but that day just brought you so close to God you almost touched his face. And I especially don’t want to hear about how awsomely box-checkingly Type-A and Who-Moved-My-Cheese-ish you are such that, while I may be able to, you personally could never abide a dropped run on account of a little water from the sky, because, like, what’s the worst that could happen?
I get it. Trust me. I just don’t want to hear about it.
So as you may imagine, I haven’t been running on the rainy days (2 out of the last 6, but the forecast isn’t looking good . . . .). Although, let me say right up front that on the sandwiched nice days I ran about 5 miles each, which is more than my commitment to 5K EVERYDAY. Now, you should know I’m trying really very hard to pull away from my natural innate tendency to compensate and justify (or more accurately, EITHER compensate OR justify).
What is it about the treadmill?
I know I’m not the only one feeling this here. Is it the sheer boredom of having no scenic view, no rich people-watching, no outdoorsy smell? I think it is the lack of those thing coupled with the fact that some bitter existentialist apartment property manager in my building positioned the treadmill so I spend 35 minutes killing myself trying to run closer to a blank wall. You know those moments when things somehow seem just a little too symbolic . . . yeah.
But I think there may even be more to my genetic incompatibility with the treadmill than just its lack of superficial niceties. I mean obviously as between outside or in, out wins it every time (unless, of course, it is raining!). I really think my major beef with the treadmill has to do with control. That’s right, I said it — CONTROL. And that sound you heard was the creaking off of the worm can top. Welcome to the sick, unjustified, and probably truly cracked inner thoughts.
Here’s my thinking:
When you want to ease up on a jog, just eeeaaase up a little, just to get your wheezing back in synch with your clomping (in-2-3-4; out-2-3-4. Am I the only one who genuinely struggles with this on every run?) you simply do it. Your cement-filled sneakers just naturally slow, if even for only a pace or two, until you’re back to swiftly cutting through the-predawn humidity with the precision of a toddler’s finger through Play-doh (ok, that’s probably just me). What gets to me is that on the treadmill, it’s like you first have to confess to yourself, and THEN to a damn machine, that you need to slow down a little.
Lungs, Legs, Feet, Heart (in chorus): “Should we press the [-] button and ease up?”
Brain: “And undermine weeks of wearing that yellow Livestrong wristband to prove to every living soul that you’re an athlete now, absolutely NOT – no [-] button EVER.”
Lungs, Legs, Feet, Heart: “But we don’t go this fast for this long normally. We’re not trained for this.”
Brain: “No rest for the weary, weaklings. When there’s rain, there’s pain, and no pain – no gain.”
Lungs, Legs, Feet, Heart: “Look this god-forsaken sidewalk may be a machine, but WE ARE NOT.”
Liver: “Is it happy hour, yet?”
Brain: “Now you’re talking.”
Maybe I’m out-dated, outmoded, anachronistic, or just plain lazy. But if it’s ever going to rain again I’ve got to come up with something to keep up with 5K EVERYDAY (or at least a rough approximation thereof).