My Sweaty Valentine

It was a big mistake signing up to run the Hobble Creek Half Marathon. For many reasons. But on my long run last Saturday I found that training isn't all bad. Especially if you have a Running Boyfriend.


I know you think that I am desperate and making this up. More so if you are in my family but my mom and Bunny were there to back up the story. For corroborative details see them. Haters.


Bunny had given her last valiant push past the 3.5 mile mark and then stopped to catch her breath. P. hung back on her bike with Bunny and I, as a last effort at courage for the next three miles, turned up my music. Soon Running Boyfriend, in his athletic prowess caught up with P. and Bunny. Unbeknownst to me, he amicably introduced himself- chatting with them about his training routine and, no doubt, the very flattering view they shared of my backside.


As R.B. caught up to me I only mildly acknowledged his existence. Not because I am coy, but because I long ago converted to the church of realism where sleek, energetic men do not bother to chat up huffing, red-faced wannabes. Also, I was trying to get into the zone to ward off the unavoidable pain and suffering that lay ahead.


But R.B. is persistent. Probably part of his Jedi-Runner training regime. After his first greeting, which I couldn't hear for the music pumping in my ears, he tried again and I was forced to read his lips. He said something to the effect of 'how's it going?'. I grimaced hideously and shouted, 'NOT SO GOOD.' thinking he would be amused as intended and get on his merry lithesome way. BUT NO. He then mouthed something to the effect of 'was I running in the Hobble Creek Half?' I nodded, too tired for words and quite baffled by this cheerful person taking such an interest in my masochistic plans. I kept waiting for him to get back to his normal pace and leave me to my wretchedness. Right when I thought he was going to oblige he turned around to face me and, running backwards at this point, started saying something that I could not hear as he was now about six feet ahead of me. I did, however, manage to catch last sentence about how he had hidden a Gatorade along the trail and would leave part of it for me. ??? With more enthusiasm than I felt, I shouted back that 'I would run to it', at the same time thinking, 'what makes you think I'm even gonna make it that far? Can't you see that I'm a novice? That I don't talk to males unless coerced. Much less engage in camaraderatory drink sharing with 2% body fat charmers!'


Phew, and he was gone. I promptly forgot him as I tried to distract myself by pretending I was a cross-country running Stevie Nicks type character with wild hair and fast shoes.


Unless all of the nuance of this post has been lost on you thus far, I'll say it simply - I am not a serious runner. For a definition of what a serious runner is just go here. You'll get all hype you want in full color. That said, I (in my ignorance) have not given a second thought to properly hydrating my body during my previous training. Indeed, it has been enough of a challenge to get myself from one run to the next without planning how I would stay hydrated. Then again I hadn't really been putting in the miles until lately. I finally stopped to walk just short of six miles because I was light headed and positively desperate for something to drink. So you can imagine my mistaking my body's insistent call for anything liquid for True Love at the sight of an Orange Gatorade bottle place conscientiously in a shady spot at the end of my run. R.B., to my grateful delight, was good for his word. What more can I want in a man?