I've joined another running clinic. Apparently I like paying a small fee for ongoing torture, punishment and degradation. And a T-shirt.
This running clinic is being held through my employer in preparation for a very well-known annual 10k race taking place in April. It's a brilliant strategy actually. My employer has been hinting at the need for cutbacks for some time now, but our staffing has already been reduced to skeletal levels.
I believe the administration is hoping that by supporting 40 odd staff members spending their lunch hours running through wooded trails, that we'll just die off through natural selection. It's less awkward than lay-offs - we're doing this to ourselves.
I'm actually doing this for the 20 seconds I experience when I feel invincible. When I can run up a hill, jump over logs, race down a path along the ocean and feel like a stretchy pant wearing warrior princess. The remaining 44 minutes and 40 seconds I want to die, but the exchange is almost worth it.
I want to run this race, and I want to cross that finish line with the team, even if it means I come limping in behind the old people who walk the entire route with their walkers, and the one 450 pound individual who seems to participate every year and takes nine hours to finish.
Every year the newspaper sponsoring the run profiles a person like this, and it's become an unofficial tradition. I won't care at all if I'm visible in the background of the triumphant photograph of the 450 pound inspiration story crossing the finish line, just as long as I cross before they start taking down the signage.
It's not looking good I'm going to be able to finish though, and neither will at least one of my colleagues and fellow runners.
Running aggravates this stupid injury I'm dealing with and causes me pain. While it doesn't injure me any further, it just hurts like a mo'fo. If I can't deal with it or lessen it or make it go away through sheer force of will - I may not make it.
One particular colleague of mine may not make it either, but that's because I might have to kill her long before race day. I only have so much will, and getting my ass into the stretchy pants and hitting the trails takes up all of it. Basically, she's on borrowed time.
I'm not a happy runner. I don't experience a great deal of exhilaration, I feel every complaint my body and lungs throw my way and with every step I curse my slow metabolism and the fact there's no such thing as a sports bra for my ass, given that it bounces more than my boobs.
I like to talk when I can, but in short bursts when I feel I don't have to choose between conversation and cardiac arrest. Mostly, I like to focus on getting through, getting over and getting something out of all that suffering.
This colleague makes that hard, given her need to warn the group. What does she warn the group about? Everything. How does she do it? She yells...no, that's not really accurate.
Years of watching Canucks games in sports bars have conditioned me to remain calm while any number of people yell at random intervals for no good reason. This woman doesn't just yell. She brays like she's spotted a nuclear missile heading right for us.
For your consideration a small list of warnings she's hollered into my ear:
Car!
Watch the grass!
Dog!
Branch!
Mud!
Stairs!
Pine cone!
Watch the pavement!
Slippery!
Watch the gravel!
Geese!
Truck!
Parked!
The geese warning caught me by surprise. What was the concern exactly? Is there some sort of protocol to consider when running by geese that could have resulted in tragedy if not followed?
I was also particularly captured by her need to specify. After hollering to warn the group of the truck, she went on to alert us in no uncertain terms that the truck was parked. Was she afraid we couldn't see the gigantic red F150 parked by the road, and that without her letting us know it was there and completely stationary we would all, one by one, run directly into the truck head first resulting in the first group claim of that nature ever filed with WCB on behalf of one organization?
Also, it remains unclear as to what we're supposed to be watching the grass, pavement and gravel for. Is she expecting it to do something? Should we all just carry a pair of binoculars and watch the terrain from inside and afar in case it gets sneaky some day?
I know she's not yelling at me personally - she's hollering for the benefit of the entire group. It just so happens though, that we run at the same pace. I can't get away from her. If I speed up I'll collapse and if I slow down any more I won't be running at all. I'm stuck with her.
If I say something I'll look like the raging bitch I currently am. If I don't say anything, I'll end up punching her in the throat and falling over a wayward pine cone in my attempt to flee.
That will be her fault too though. A pine cone warning should come quicker.
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