Running Is a Four Letter Word

Over the past three years or so, I started really running.  Now, I want to make it clear that I do not like running.  Running, in return, does not like me.  This girl is not made for running.  I am made for stationary activities, like being the catcher on the softball team or crocheting or blogging.  I keep running though because its a healthy activity, gets me out of the house and because I look good in running clothes.  (Also because I can brag about running - don't act like you don't do it too.)

To the point of today's story - one of my friends told me that I was missing some not-so-obvious places where I could meet men.  (Sidenote:  Did you know that single men frequent sports bars?  I had no idea, but thanks, pal, for letting me know that one. *insert sarcasm here*)  She told me that there were all kinds of single dudes running all over certain parts of the city.  All I needed to do was go to one of those places, attempt not to run like someone was chasing me or like I was having a seizure and surely I would see some good candidates.

Going to any place, even just the park, just to parade around in hopes that maybe some guy would notice me isn't appealing to me at all.  I wouldn't normally even consider it as an option, but I decided when I started writing this thing I was going to try things I hadn't done - you know for research.  Yeah, that's it.  It had nothing to do with the hundreds of attractive, shirtless men that jog around the most popular trails in the city.  Nothing to do with that.  At all.
 
Yesterday after children's choir at church, I decided I would go to one of these hotbeds and see what there was to see.  What ended up happening wasn't pretty.  I guess in all my planning, I didn't realize how aggressive some of these runners are.  There are a few people who are like me, running for the sake of exercise, but there are some INTENSE, hardcore runners out there.  If you know me, you know I'm competitive and so I ended up running way faster than I'm used to because I was trying to prove myself.   

Here's an important fact: when I really workout I turn red.  Like, bright red. 

So, here I was running like I was on fire, turning the color of a human beet, sweating - which caused my mascara to start running and gasping for breath.  Woo!  What a treasure I must have looked like, huh?  I probably resembled a sunburned raccoon, racing away from a predator.

In the middle of all this, there was a guy who I passed, then passed me and I eventually passed again.  My brain finally switched on - hello!  He could be flirting!  He could like the sunburned raccoon look!  Get it together girl! 

He started pulling away from me, so I naturally picked up my pace.  I kept up for a while, even though all the air was being sucked from my lungs and my brain was beginning to suffer from oxygen deprivation.  He looked back a couple of times and I did the whole, "I'm not looking at you, I'm looking though you" thing.  At this point, my body was saying "STOP!  We can't do this anymore!  Don't you remember we had Long John Silver's for lunch!?!!" 

Then my hip gave out.  I had to stop cold and stretch it and away went the Running Man. 

So long, Running Man.  Thanks for the memories.