Run, Rabbit, Run!

It's amazing, I always sort of thought of myself as being "athletic". I mean, not like I'm an "athlete"- god no. But I guess, "my build" is in that line up. Just like your age, check a box on the form and move on. (said in a Yankee-accented, old smoker-lady's voice). The reason I bring this up is, well, I don't really want to say that my life spent as an "athlete" has been embarrassing, but it totally has. I can give you a few "For Instances" and let you be the judge.

In Sixth Grade, I was on a undefeated basketball team. I scored 3 points the whole season. And once, despite my terrible ability to play at all, I actually managed to complete an interception! I stole the ball and ran like the wind down the court to our side, and with all eyes on me, I threw the ball high in the air... and missed. Completely. In my excitement, I over-ran the court and couldn't get the shot. An audible, disappointed "aww" filled the stands. Needless to say, I didn't join the team the next year.

I tried softball... but all I got out of that was a team picture that simultaneously proved that I really did have that horrifying perm in 4th grade and I played for team named Desert Storm. How patriotic. That was all YEARS ago, mind you, but apparently my sporting ability has retained its quality over the almost two decades.

See, I'm training for a 10K... well, I was. I've been running, a lot. Which I kinda enjoy anyway, so it's been a nice way to get me in shape. So the other day I was running on the treadmill about 20 minutes into my 40 minute scheduled time and my earphone cord got caught on my arm or something stupid like that and threw my iPod to the floor. In my sweaty, heavy-breathing state, I immediately considered my options.

A) Keep running, maybe someone will finish their work out and pick it and return it to me.

B) Stop Running, slow the machine to a crawl and hop off to get it.

Choosing Option B was obvious, I still had 20 more minutes to go. So, there I was, just like one of those annoying people who run in place at crosswalks, thinking that I could lose less running time if I straddled the still-rolling treadmill and pressed the "Jog" option to slow the speed. I also thought "JOG" was my only option as this machine is new and the only thing I've learned so far is that "STOP" kills everything, including your progress. Earphones still attached to my head, off I jumped, assuming it had lost interest in my continued efforts though I couldn't hear proof otherwise grumbling aside me. Grabbing the iPod, half-attempting to replug the earphones to the body, I turned to the right and quite literally hopped back on the treadmill.

With birthday-party-SURPRISE-like emotion, full-speed-ahead, AND at an angle, I hit the still-running treadmill. BOOM! My feet flew out from under me, landing right knee first on the treadmill just before tumbling to the sweaty, carpeted floor. The two girls around me looked shocked and both asked nearly in unison as I found my footing again, "Oh my God! Are you okay!" (Neither of them leaving their circling track to help me up).

I stood up sheepishly and assured them I was okay (though I was shaking and half-thought my kneecap was poking out of my leg). Turns out that was just blood pooling under the skin of the joint. Brutal.

So now, while I am on the road to recovery, though not quite ready to chase the carrot again, I have been doing small things at home to kill time and make up for the lack of burnt energy. I cook, I clean, I do crunches in my room and pretend to lift weights. Just the other night I was sort of half-heartily laying on the floor of my room, playing around with my yellow weights. At some point, I either lost interest or motivation, it doesn't really matter. The part that made me laugh out loud was when I placed the weights on my chest to rest and I suddenly found myself in a calm moment. I snickered at myself for thinking of jokes like, "ha, take a load off!" and "What a weight off my chest." A corner came to the crook of my mouth and I felt pretty darn good about myself for this wit, that is, until I thought, "huh... 10 lbs feels pretty weird sitting on your chest. In fact, I bet this is more, I mean it is kinda heavy."

I looked down at the sunny metal and laughed. Out loud. They weigh three pounds each. Who am I really kidding? It appears, my lack of athletic prowess even hits my brainwaves sometimes.