Running like my ass was on fire.

           I woke up early for my run Friday. I really hate waking up early for just about anything, but I was determined to hit the bar with some people after work, and was motivated to be able to do that guilt-free. Nothing motivates me like beer. I’ve won most of my competitions for drinks. Playing for booze, I can’t lose.

            I got into the gym with the usuall complaints. Ass dragging, belly jiggling, but what felt heaviest was my heart. I have struggled this week with my runs. My interval this week has consisted of a five minute warm-up walk, with running a sad 90 seconds and walking two minutes. I have to keep that up for twenty minutes. It sounded super easy when I looked at it on Sunday, but apparently looking it up while you stuff your face with thai food is actually harder than doing it. On Monday, I got overheated and stopped very briefly to get a sweat towel. We all know what happened with fucking Fix-it Frank on Wednesday. Needless to say, I am not looking forward to this run that got me up an hour and a half earlier than usual.

            I pick the same treadmill as Wednesday. There are no parts lying around the one next to me. Turns out Fix-it Frank can do more than kill a bottle of CK One. I take a deep breath of fresh air. Let’s do this.

            I do my warm-up mentally preparing myself for how I’m going to get through this run. Focus on breathing, don’t watch the clock, let your music drive you, and most of all, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.

            I start my first running interval, and everything seems to be going fine. Of course it is, it’s my first minute of running, not my fifth. I look start to feel tempted to look down at the “time elapsed” on my treadmill, but I remember my pep talk and advert my eyes elsewhere. My eyes land on a sign on the treadmill next to me. So the treadmill next to me still isn’t fixed. Well that’s just perfect.

            My body tenses in an instant state of panic, where is Fix-it Frank? I spot him, meandering around with a post-it note and a telephone. The fact that I didn’t smell him first is an instant improvement. It seems we found the soap this morning. He looks semi-busy, but keeps walking in circles that are looping him closer to this treadmill.

            Failure is not an option, so I decide I have found a new focus. Every time I feel like looking at the timer on my treadmill, I am going to play “Where’s Waldo” with our favorite maintenance man. My temptation to look at the timer is strong, and I’m really scared that I’m just being a “cologne bottle half full” kind of girl about this. I watch Fix-it Frank like he is holding my last case of beer for safekeeping.

            I eventually have to look and reduce my speed, and reduce I do. I’ve decided to reduce my walking speed by two-tenths of a mile per hour to give my body more rest on my walking intervals. I have started to learn to listen to my body, and my body tells me that if I was doing this outside, there is no fucking way I would walking as fast as I do now. It’s still a speed my old trainer Nikki would have been ok with, so I deem it fine.

            It was either that or the Papa Murphy’s pizza I had last night, but it all was working. I hit the halfway point of my running intervals and I come to a realization. I’m going to make it. I’m going to fucking make it!!!

            Oh my god did it feel good to know you are going to finish intervals that have been kicking your ass all week. I wasn’t dreading the runs, and smiling a little through my wheezing breaths because I was actually doing it. This is why people run. I felt happy; I felt on a high, I felt absolutely great.

            Then I heard a sound. A screeching sound. Then flashing lights. Is that the goddamn fire alarm? I know my thighs are rubbing together like two drunk kids on prom night but I didn’t think we are getting sparks here.

            It was the fire alarm. What the hell is going on? People are looking around, confused. I search for Fix-it Frank, but I don’t have to search long, because my eyes have hardly left his gut. He is at the front counter fiddling with some controls and laughing. I instantly retract any guilt about making fun of him. If you are going to test the alarm system, do it in the middle of the night, not during a peak time. You’re scaring the senior swim class for God’s sake.

            This continues through my run, but there is literally nothing getting me off this treadmill before I am ready. I finish, and that’s all that really matters. The senior swim class has been shuffling in during my run, and I’m excited that they will be in the water when I get ready for once.

            No such luck, we are dealing with chicks that have all the time in the world. They are putting on their ultra-modest super control swimsuits on when I enter the locker room, and I’m glad I grabbed one of my laciest thongs for the day. Enjoy the view ladies.

            I know I’m enjoying it. My legs are starting to look less like cottage cheese in a bag. I know it’s going to be a good day.