Out of the Closet

Exciting news, blogreaders (both of you).

I found the Hidden Purchaser Within. Finally!

And all it took was a little torture.

Back story? Sure, why not. This is it:

In the last few weeks it has come to my attention that folks around me have been accomplishing feats of great athletic prowess.

Feat: Carlos at my office is training for a half marathon.

Feat: Dude in the security department at work is deciding when to do his next Ironman competition.

Feat: Both Meg and my older brother have recently completed marathons.

See? Feats, everywhere! Even my dad recently took up racquetball. People are just doing really impressive stuff.

For some reason, last week I found these amazing feats particularly inspiring. And I decided last Monday that I didn't want my greatest athletic accomplishment of late to be surviving all day at work in a pair of high heels.

I signed up for the Big D Marathon in Dallas.

So I'm not a runner. I ran when I was a chubby kid, but only if there was an ice cream truck in front of me. I played soccer as a tween, but I was the goalie. Even the sport I "played" in college--rowing--is done sitting down.

If you've had the pleasure to meet me in person, you know that I am not built for speed, either. Left to my own devices and free of any knowledge of calories, I'd make a great bouncer or linebacker. There is evidence of this available via photos from my very early 20s.

This is exactly how I look while running--arms flailing and mouth gaping

Clearly this knowledge did not stop my fantasizing. I still signed up for the Big D. I downloaded a 13-week training schedule and hit the treadmill two whole days in a row. Yesss! Day 1--I ran 3 miles! Day 2--I ran 4 miles!

Feeling confident, I confided in my seasoned marathon-running coworker. "You're training on a treadmill?" he asked.

"Um...yes. Is that okay?"

Scoff scoff scoff scoff. "Sure," he told me between scoffs. "If there's a tornado."

Wind completely out of sails. Regroup.

Day 3 called for 6 miles. I was very, very disappointed to see that there were NO tornados that morning. Nor was there any heat. Seriously, coworker, why did you have to tell me that?

Whatever. I still had visions of being super athletic and finishing a marathon. I intended to complete the run.

I pulled on tights, sweat pants, and a shirt. And then another shirt, and a 3rd shirt, a 4th shirt, and then a 5th shirt for good measure. And a hat and gloves.

Similar running outfit

Somehow I managed to trot around the neighborhoods for the next hour and then roll back up into my house.

Holy cow, I made it. I even felt like I could've gone farther! Perhaps because I'd been taking in carbs like an animal hoarder takes in ugly cats, who knows.

Day 4--9 miles. Right, so same story as the day before: I donned my entire wardrobe and trotted around the neighborhood. Thank you, carbs, I did it without a problem!

Well, almost...

Okaaaay. So let me tell you a funny story about a thing called chafing.

Or how's this: I'll be modest instead and just assure you that all the internet forums addressing chafing lie. They LIE about chafing. They lie because they say it happens around sports bras and waistbands and armpits.

This is a huge load of crap. Bull, baloney, poppycock. I chafe in none of these areas.

Undoubtedly these folks are just too embarrassed to admit that chafing is a private-parts issue; they don't want to spoil their righteous image of Perfect Sculpted Athlete Warrior with tales of a sore butt crack.

Fine. I don't need to find the answer to this sad predicament on the internet. I can solve it myself. I love the prospect of underpants full of vaseline. I enjoy painful experimentation with different running garments. And it's super f-ing fun to limp around the office all day like I've been testing out my new palomino.

So yeah. The first 60 seconds of the post-run shower revealed to me the horrors of chafing, and it's been just peachy ever since. Even better, it rained on Sunday, the day of the 12-miler. Rain, but no tornados.

Let's just say the honeymoon was over. All my visions of super atheltic awesomeness were washed away in that rain. Cue the animal montage:

This is how I felt afterwards

Or actually more like this

So here I am, confessing (in a somewhat public way) that I intend to run a marathon. Mostly because I know that shame will prevent me from quitting, and I also write about it because this is what caused me to go to RunTex and buy a new pair of shoes. That's right, I purchased an article of clothing.

The salesguy was really nice. He didn't even make fun of my flat flat feet or my inexperience in choosing proper socks.

"I don't really have much of an arch," I told him as he measured me.

"Yes. I see that," he tastefully replied.

"I seem to be having problems with blisters on long runs," I added.

"What kind of sock material do you prefer?"

I laughed, then realized he was serious. "Um...cotton?" Spun gold? Hemp? Sewn-together dollar bills? What options are there?

Apparently cotton is unacceptable as it holds all your sweat, thereby creating perfect blistering conditions.

Great, the situation on my feet was my fault.

He sold me socks that, from the packaging, look like they could run the marathon better without me. Performance socks. Fabulous.

Should say "No Blisters, Cotton-Sock-Wearing Moron!"

He also outfitted me in shoes that can be seen from space. Yes, NASA recorded these puppies last time they passed over. Salesdude assured me that I'd need a size larger than my normal 9.5, and I believed him (he knew so much about socks!)

They make my feet look ugly and huge, and as you can see from the photos they are roughly the size of my refrigerator. But they are oh-so-comfortable when I run.

They don't do anything for my chafing, but again, I'm figuring that part out on my own.

Anyway, encouraged by the shoe purchase, I popped into Banana Republic and found pants similar to a pair I'd loved in a recent Real Simple article.

In my size, on sale, and ready to go home with me. Unlike the new shoes and socks, they did not make me feel dumb, flat-footed, or huge, so I considered them a great purchase.

And that's it. I've broken the spell, and I've come out of the closet...about my recent activities: I'm running, and while it's not attractive in the least, now I really have to stay committed. Because both of you know about it.