Best-Kept Secret

If I'd have known that Town Lake was going to be providing me with running snacks, I probably wouldn't have bought those secret-pocket running shorts the real runners seem to love so much.

I classify them as "real" because I have not yet joined their ranks. I am an impostor. A poser. Perhaps even a ringer, because while I don't look like it at all, I can officially run 20 miles.

Oh yeah, that's right. Twenty miles this morning on Town Lake, and I went home in my own car (not an ambulance). And I am an impostor/poser/ringer because no one would ever guess that I were capable of such a thing by just looking at me:

yeah...I don't hear the Rocky theme playing when I see this person either

The real runners are lean, lithe, with either cool haircuts or gorgeous bouncing ponytails. They zoom past me on the lake trails, sometimes inspiring me with their speed. But mostly they intimidate me.

You can even tell who they are in public. Runners just look different. Were they born that way & happily fell into their life role at some point? Or has running made them look the way they do?

I hope for the latter, because I think it would be cool for someone to ask me if I run...to not respond with an eyebrow to the hairline when I explain that I'm prepping for a marathon (I'm not trying to boast; I have to tell people. Otherwise everyone thinks I'm pregnant when I don't drink and go to bed at 7:30pm.)

But people do not ask me if I run. It is my body's best-kept secret. The Shannon who runs is stored somewhere deep inside the Shannon who enjoys beer and chocolate, and beer/choco Shannon wins in the struggle to control what shows up on the outside. My butt stands as testament.

CLEARLY a model for Title 9 and not my actual midsection. I just want you to see the shorts.

Which is kinda why I think it's so great that my secret-pocket shorts allow me to store snacks in a pocket right above my butt. There it is perfectly concealed; what's one more Larabar stored among that which has been created by so many other delicious snacks? Some ladies stopped me on the trail to ask me where I got my shorts, and in a rush of adrenaline I shouted, "TITLE NINE, THEY'RE AWESOME, THEY HAVE POCKETS EVERYWHERE...I HAVE A GRANOLA BAR IN HERE!"

They quickly scurried away. I'm sure I was just a vision of sleek athleticism there at mile 16 and it was too much for them to handle. Or maybe they were hurrying to the store to get their own awesome shorts. I didn't care. I was kinda delirious at that point.

My dear, sweet friend.

Because while I was still only at mile 16, I was at Advil #3. So I was feeling pretty...interesting.

Not that I like the fact that little pills are helping me to achieve my goal, but after the horrifying knee pain I began to experience 3 weeks ago, I'm willing to do what it takes to make this marathon happen.

What it really takes is just a little bit of confidence. In the shoe store, that is. I showed up at RunTex to get my second pair of shoes, and this frighteningly harsh Russian lady approached me. She commanded that I take off my shoes, determined that I had a low arch, and put me in a pair of Brooks. It felt like there were little bubbles under my feet in the place where normal folks have an arch.

Moronically, I still bought them and proceeded to run in them for a week. After that, I became best friends with ice and Ibuprofen. I tried to swim and cycle and pretend like I would still be able to do the marathon, but I was pretty sure I was just going to die.

Brendon stepped in to end my melodramatic self-pity and just told me to return the shoes and stretch some more. So I forced the evil shoes back on the shoe store (um, a different location where nobody scared me) and bought a pair of even more gigantic flat-footed-folks shoes, which I got nice and dirty today.

Look at all that space in the toe box...perfect for long alien toes!

What I had a hard time with today was the snack issue. See, real runners say you have to eat every 90 minutes or so when doing a long run. They also say you should drink Gatorade. While I know it tastes good, I just don't want to drink something that is the same color as my workout shirt. That just can't really be healthy.

And the snack thing? I wonder if that is just for real runners who have nothing on their bodies to burn. I'm carrying around what we might call a nice amount of excess & wouldn't really mind if my body chose to consume it to get to the end. Plus it's really really hard to eat while running.

I did bite into the Larabar at mile 17, just because I was scared of what would happen if I didn't. But like I said before, Town Lake provided us with snacks back at daybreak...with a million f-ing little gnats.

And what I don't understand is why they weren't bothering the real runners. They were all over my eyes and nose and mouth, so I ran miles 3-7 waving my arms around my face like I was on fire. I must have swallowed enough to make up a Larabar or two. Which is probably why I never got hungry.

I did start to fantasize about pink lemonade. I mentally took back everything nasty I've ever thought about Gatorade too. I wanted a tall, cold, sweet drink. With artificial ingredients. Mmm. I wanted donuts and Country Time and waffles. The healthy crap I've been eating was very very far from my mind.

Shannon, eat us! Don't give in to Yellow #5. It's us and gnats that will make you look like a runner!

And then it was over. I almost stopped someone in the parking lot to tell them that I had did it, because I was quite giddy. But it's SXSW this week in Austin, and all the cool hip people that were gathering were just happy to fight over my coveted parking spot. So I drove home to stretch and feel victorious.

V with your feet is for Victory

It really was gratifying to lay on the ground and gaze up at my worn-out feet. The dust ring where my socks had been looked like stripes I had somehow earned.

I wasn't even mad at all the laundry and mess I'd left around the house. Just...happy and exhausted. And almost unable to get up from my mat. That Advil #3 was wearing off. I crawled into the shower before its effects were so diluted that I'd have to call the Fire Department to wash my hair for me.

That might be a good fantasy...if you're not smelly and dusty and unable to control most of your muscles.

The big thing here is that now I know I won't have to get Brendon to help me cheat at the marathon in a few weeks. Oh yes, we talked about it. He offered to drive me from the start to the end if I didn't think I could do it...that way I could still save face with my sweet and supportive family/friends.

But I'm okay. They say if you can run 20, you can run 26.2. I'm going to believe They.

I believe They. Even if I feel like this after 20 miles.

And after my breakfast of gnats and choked-down Larabar, the most delicious thing in the world sounded like...salt. And bananas.

So I answered that craving with salty bananas. No, I didn't consume crazy runner food or drinks with electrolytes. Remember, I am a poser. I may be a runner, but it's my best-kept secret.