This morning I discovered myself WALKING! I honestly thought I was running. But no. I evidently just simply forgot to run. Whoops. When my wandering attention snapped alarmingly back into sharp focus, I looked down and suddenly noticed my feet in mosey-mode. The pavement wasn’t a blur. Heck, I could count grains of sand on the road … and had plenty of time to do it. No sweat. No panting. No messy hair. No damp, red face. No runny nose. No dripping mascara. No righteousness of a runner. Just meandering down the road, thinking lah-dee-dah thoughts (if there were thoughts at all). Maybe I was even humming some lah-dee-dah song.
What madness is this? I’m on a singular mission to freaking train for THE New York City Marathon. I’ve got only a few months to hammer this out.
And I FORGET that I’m running???
Oh, this cannot be a good sign.
This is a tragic reversion to the undisciplined life of a couch dweller that uses forward momentum on foot to get from the den to the kitchen and back during commercials.
This can’t happen ever again.
I don’t know how I’m going to guarantee focus, but I’m thinking an iPod cranked up full barrel, a Rent-A-Runner partner with a bullhorn and a tazer, the neighbor’s evil tempered dog Rommel unleashed by agreement on certain mornings, and a commitment to run only in driving rain (with lightning) might be involved. I can never again allow the mind to wander and take the feet with it.
We all know that the marathon is largely mental, but we don’t want to underestimate how important … uh … actual running might be. I’m just saying …