Run Away with Me

I hate running. I hate how my body feels as it's pounding on the pavement all hurried and spastic and coarse. When I was little, my mom thought that I "ran funny" and took me to the doctor where he had me run down the hallway watching me "run funny," and then he said, "I don't think anything is wrong with her. She just 'runs funny." That may or may not have been the be all end all when it came to my future as a runner, and for the next 20 years, I completely avoided the activity. Also, the development of boobs did not make running any more enjoyable (just. trust. me.) The only exception to my refusal to run was the few times every summer when I would be enjoying blue skies and green grass and suddenly see a garter snake darting toward at my ankles. Then, and only then, I ran like the mother effing wind. I'm no good at running, but I'm hella good at running away.

All of this brings me to a highly peer pressured work environment last week when everyone in my office (ok, three people) somehow convinced me to sign up for the J.P. Morgan Corporate Challenge, a 3.5 run in Central Park every summer that raises money for.. blah blah... I don't really know why this particular event is the thing that made broke me down. I'm not particularly fond of the words corporate or challenge, and all I think when I hear J.P. Morgan is my student loan debt.... but I did it?

Let me reiterate: I don't run, I don't like to run, I don't want to to like to run, and I think running has become a bit of a trendy showy-offy thing for some people with too much time on their hands to obsess about.. BUT, somehow I did it. I signed up. And not only did I sign up, but I check the "running" box; not "walking," not "jogging" but "running." I should have handwritten on the form the word "funny" after it. This is so going to blow.