Sunday, November 28, 2010

Running with the Devil

Does my blog title scare you a little?

Are you a little worried for poor Coach Dimples?

Because, after all, I am easily the devil in our little relationship. The man is a saint to put up with me so therefore I am the one with the claws, horns, and tail.

But the guy has gotten me to RUN so I think maybe he isn't so much a saint as a wizard (as I wondered about in a previous blog---see "Do You Believe in Magic?").

I. don't. run.

Period.

Idon'trun...Idon'trun...Idon'trun...

I do not ever ever ever run.

I hate to run.

I hate hate hate to run.

And dammit, he is making me run.

I totally hate it.

I hate every second of it...

At least I thought I did...until today...

and maybe...

I don't hate running so much.

Let me walk you through my history with running:

I ran as a child when I played with other kids.

In middle school I hated PE. It wasn't that I hated exercise because I loved going to ballet, tap, and jazz classes. It was that I totally sucked at sports of all kinds.

I can't catch or throw a ball. I cannot serve a ball. I cannot hit things with a bat or racket. I cannot jump and I cannot run fast.

I truly hated the moment when teams were chosen for PE games.

I was always the last one picked.

I wasn't fat back then so it wasn't that I was the fat little girl. It was that I totally failed at any sport and everyone knew it.

So I would be the last little loser picked.

Standing there in my fabulous and oh-so-flattering-polyester-double-knit-snap-on-the-shoulder onsie PE uniform. It was light blue. With white pin stripes. It stunk no matter how much it was washed. It looked like a polyester overgrown baby onsie except that it had no sleeves. It was just one ugly one-piece thing that did not go in at the waist so it made you look like a big blue box. Memorial Middle School girls, I can hear/feel/see you cringing at the memory...

Once my sweet Uncle was subbing as our PE teacher. He let me be team captain every time. Someone accused him of nepotism (of course that kid didn't say "nepotism" because he didn't know the word...he just said "No fair! She's your niece!"). My uncle answered him back that he hated watching me always get picked last but I was good at choosing teams...

So me and my blue polyester onsie uglifest of a PE uniform would choose teams...and pray that I never had to bat/serve/run...

And then there was that damn President's fitness medal/patch thing...you had to do "x" many pullups, run "x" far, etc.

So that meant I had to run laps...

I was thrilled when I learned that things were better in high school!

Well, notsomuch...

Because after my parents divorced and we had to leave our home on the ranch and my mom decided to move us to Houston, I found myself in 9th grade and NOT in high school...because 9th grade in Houston was JUNIOR HIGH...

sheesh...

So PE was once again a horrible experience for me. I do think the PE uniforms were (marginally) better...but not by much.

When I go into the gym at my son's school as see PE these days I cannot believe what a different thing it is. The kids actually have fun. And the coaches are fantastic and I love watching them lead the kids through a much better experience than I had.

Sophomore Year: I had to do bloody PE again!

I moved to Kerrville. I had planned on joining the drill team and just doing that. But nooooooooooooo....

In order to be on the drill team you had to serve time on the pep squad. I refused to do it...the pep squad, that is. I was so frustrated because as horrible as I was at sport, I could dance.

I could dance my ass off.

I could kick higher and better than any of the girls on the drill team. I'm rather "bendy" and very flexible so my kicks were the bomb. I have rhythm. I can stay on beat. I can choreograph. I knew I was better than most of the girls on the drill team and I had "made" the drill team in Kingsville before I left.

But rules are rules...

Except for when they make an exception for someone...and they made an exception for another girl...who had made her drill team in Houston before moving.

So she got to be a Golden Girl and I had to do PE.

I hated PE.

I had to run. Hated hated hated it...

I guess you have figured out by now that I was never on the track team...

So I kept practicing my high kicks and dance moves...because I planned on being a Rockette at Radio City Music Hall...that is until my father pointed out to me that none of the Rockette's were 5'2"...end of that plan...

Junior Year I gave in and did the stupid pep squad. I choreographed routines for us to do in the stands. We looked good.

Then came drill team tryouts time. I got mad at the drill team instructor. So, when she had me hauled into the Principal's office for being "disrespectful" (I ran out of the gym after my friend who had just had a disagreement with her), I did what my father told me I always did best---I painted myself into a corner...

So there I was in the Principal's office with the drill team teacher and the pep squad/cheerleading coach (since I was technically under her jurisdiction as a pep squad member) and the principal was doing his level best not to laugh at the fact that me with my straight-A's and great PSAT scores and my good conduct was in his office because I chased after my friend to comfort her.

And so, here comes the corner painting: I declared that I didn't want to be a Golden Girl after all, that I was going out for....CHEERLEADER....

Stupid stupid stupid

I didn't to be a cheerleader. I liked to dance. I couldn't tumble to save my life.

But I could jump...I could jump really really really well. And I was a heck of a solid base for doing stunts.

I just wanted to worry the drill team lady but then the ball started rolling down the hill (so to speak) and I couldn't stop it. I was going to back out but my father pointed out to me that since I was painted into that corner I better find a way out of it without humiliating myself.

So I ran for cheerleader and made it.

It wasn't so bad. I loved my fellow cheerleaders, especially my partner...she was/is a sweetheart and we had a great time.

I would run out onto the track when we would come out for games...I ran just far enough to do a big round off into a toe-touch jump. That was about it for my running.

My first game was spectacular...a spectacular flop...literally...

I ran onto the track and promptly placed my hands onto the surface of the track for my round-off but happened to place my hands right onto my ponytails and almost scalped myself...and just skidded onto the track. I had a pretty good track burn on my thighs for that.

My father marched down the steps of the stadium to express the obvious: I had flopped my flip...and flopped onto the track in spectacular fashion.

Thanks, Daddy...

The next week I tried a new hairstyle...french braids. My hands did not land on my hair. I did my run/jump thing just fine.

But once again, here came Daddy with a critique...he told me the hair wasn't working and I looked like a giant q-tip.

The next week I tried "Princess Leia" hair...the following week was "Gretel" braids...and when it cooled off I settled on full-on Farrah hair and just watched my hand placement as I did the round-off.

But I missed dancing....

And I almost had the chance one week when the drill team instructor came to me and asked if I would perform with the drill team at half time (flu was rampant and I think some bad grades were happening so they were short a partner). I stood there and just stared at the woman thinking she was nuts for asking me to do it but the cheerleading coach rescued me and declared I would not perform and needed halftime as a break from cheering.

Thank God...because the dance was to "Elvira" by the Oak Ridge Boys...totally the most cringe-inducing dance of the whole football season.

I had to run during some field-day thing we did my senior year...I was more concerned with looking cute and again went "splat" on the track when I had to jump a hurdle. (Fast forward many many many years and imagine my terror when Ke$ha Barbie declared she was going to do hurdles...and the school had no track so her total experience with hurdling was jumping over ONE in practice...she did fine and never fell or knocked over a hurdle...amazing to me...).

I still have scars from that fall on the track...because I was RUNNING...and trying to jump.

In college I avoided running altogether except for running for the toilet when I had too much to drink. I think I ran across campus ONCE for fear of being late to class only to discover the prof didn't care if we were late or even there...

So here I am and Dimples is making me run...we (he runs with me) run on the track at the park and he makes me run on the treadmill.

I told him since I was being so compliant with him I would give it a try and do the treadmill thing on my days when I wasn't working with him or doing spin. So I have done this exactly...5 times...

Last week he had me come to the gym for a workout. We have decided we prefer the park. That might change when the weather is bad.

So there we were in the gym with no track and he puts me on the treadmill. Now when we are at the park he runs with me. This time he just stood by and smiled that cute dimpled smile and starts pushing buttons and the next thing I know the treadmill is starting to race ahead and I am at a serious incline.

Seriously?

Seriously...

I told him that it was too much...he just smiled...

Damn those dimples...

I told him I hoped he was happy because I was most certainly NOT happy about it.

He just smiled...

UGH!

That was Wednesday. It was an Advil-fueled night for me after that...

So Thursday and today I ran on the treadmill on my own.

It's getting better. I can actually run for 1/2 mile at a stretch.

Re-read that sentence....

I can actually run for 1/2 mile at a stretch.

Today I was on the treadmill for over 2 miles and 1.5 of it was at jogging pace---but I did have little walking breaks in between jogging periods.

This time last year I couldn't have run for 1/10 of a mile if I was chasing after Ke$ha Barbie running off with my credit card...

So here is my delimna....

Do I confess to Coach Dimples that I can actually run a bit?

I know it is not much....1/2 mile is nothing nothing nothing, but the fact that I can actually do any running is something I am loathe to admit to because I know that means one thing:

HE WILL MAKE ME DO MORE RUNNING!!!!!!!!!!!

I hate hate hate to run....but I can do it...sortof...

So do I tell him or just keep my mouth closed?

Since he is training me tomorrow I have a bit of time to think about it...and most likely I will tell him....but now I will have to run...

I really don't understand why I am so compliant with him. Must be the dimples...

And he will make me run...run...run...

Oh Goody! At least that means new shoes...even if they are running shoes...

Inspiration Song: "Running with the Devil" by Van Halen...still an awesome song...

Bye Darlings...I have to run!

1 comment:

  1. Oh Yeah!! You are so gonna be on my OKC Marathon Relay team in April! I love you and am so proud of you. And Dimples, ..... you are the bomb : )

    ReplyDelete