see mary run.

yesterday's rainy, windy conditions beckoned us inside the Y last night. willingly obliging (hello, i pay $40 a month to belong here) and eager to sport my matching workout clothes (cute outfits do wonders for gym enthusiasm), i entered the Y fully prepared to take on a hard-core walk.

yes, i walk. i don't run. i don't like running. it makes me feel rushed.
okay, no, that's not true.
but running requires so much focus that you don't get to enjoy life.
fiiiine, no, that's not really true either. it's just that i've been trying to distance myself from running snobs, from all those people who CAN run and DO run and then start running MARATHONS because they're CRAZY.

but i certainly don't need to run a marathon to prove myself to anyone. so i walk fast. real fast. fast enough that my speed on the treadmill is often the same as the person running next to me. ha ha.

okay, go ahead and diagnose it. the real issue here is the combination of extreme competitiveness and stealth jealousy. a deadly mix. i'm not saying i haven't noticed this before, but it finally sank in last night during my super-walk on the life fitness machine. i was thinking about a conversation i had with my sister, and how her husband told her that maybe running would be more fun for her if she didn't start off on a sprint, that maybe she'd enjoy it more if she paced herself. i rolled that over in my head. and then i thought about another friend, someone who wasn't an avid runner in college but who's recently started taking on every single possible run/race/half-marathon/marathon in the state of wisconsin. for real. how did he just start doing that?

i walked faster.

if it's all about pacing, and if anyone can do it, then i should be able to do it. i mean, old people run marathons. c'mon. i can do this. that is, of course, if i wanted to ...

and then, as if on cue, blur blasts through my headphones with "song 2." and i started to run. i like my feet to hit the ground on the beats and my 4.6 speed wouldn't allow it. i turned it up to 5. i ran. i ran. so i turned it up gradually till i hit 5.6. and i ran a mile.

i. ran. a. mile.

so i feel lame writing this now because everyone who reads my blog is probably now in hard-core marathon-training, preparing to run their 17th race in 3 years. in fact, you're probably having this message read to you via wireless handheld blackberry technology while you're running amidst a crowd of cheery runners, their short shorts flapping in the wind. you people make me sick. and also, i kind of want to be you.

i mean, i don't want to get ahead of myself, but don't be surprised if i win the chicago marathon in 2010. i'm just saying ... it's possible.