“Hi,” I say shifting my weight from one side to the other wondering if I’m having an actual hot flash at the age of 31 or am I just imagining it. “My name is Sommer.”
“Hi Sommer,” they all say—some smiling at me a silent push to continue.
“And…I’m going to run.” There…I said it. The small group holds their breath for a moment and after what seems like an hour, some chunky guy in a gray sweat suit starts the Rudy clap. Clap…pause…clap…pause. Soon, the small group stands and claps in unison as I take my seat—smiling—in the ugly doo-doo brown metal chair. Maybe I can do this, I think nodding my head in that ‘Oh thank you. You shouldn’t have. Oh please, stop’ way. Aaaaaand scene!
Ok, so maybe that was all just in my head, and maybe there is no Beginner Runner’s Anonymous group where all of us untrained wanna-be’s go to gain the acceptance of others just like us, but there are people out there just as nutty as me who are actually taking the steps to run with the best of them. Well, maybe not the best because seriously those Kenyans have everyone beat, but the semi-good ones. You know those semi-good runners who have their ponytails perfectly placed atop their heads, their super special running shoes that cost more than my mini-van tied ever so right, and their fancy iPod’s chocked full of crazy runner tunes strapped to their bicep. They come into Starbucks after their run still jogging in place to swipe a bottle of water or some super smoothie only semi-good runners know about. Yea…them. I plan on being in the semi-good, perfect ponytail, special expensive shoe, super smoothie group.
This feat will be one for the record books—in my life anyway. Over the next few months (38 weeks to be exact), I will be chronicling my road to the Peachtree Road Race. It’s hard to say that I’ll make it—you (my small group sitting in the doo-doo brown metal chairs) may have to egg me on when I’m not feeling too Forrest Gumpish—but I plan on giving it all I’ve got. Besides the fact that my weight hangs around 270 something, my boobs are like squishy 5lb bags of Dixie Crystal, and I’ll be one of thousands angling for a spot to even run in the race, I am pretty optimistic. After my husband laughed so hard he snorted (to this day he claims he wasn’t laughing at me but with me—but I don’t recall laughing), he petted my arm, gave me a kiss and told me I could do anything I set my mind to and he’s right. I can do this...right after I get my ass off this couch. Wish me luck!
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