Cotton is Rotten and Wick Away Intimates

As you may know, I joined a faith based running club. Every Saturday I meet with a group of 100 or so fellow Christians who have chosen to embark on this journey together. Among this group there is an older more conservative bunch, as well as a younger more liberal bunch. I sit with the latter group. I am joined by my good friend Daisy (not really her name, but I know she'll kill me if she reads this). Daisy and I sit through the classroom lectures listening intently and taking copious notes. We haven't actually started running as a a group yet. These first few weeks have been the indoctrination period, the Obama-esque "YES We Can" motivational jargon. It has also been lectures on diet, nutrition, and strength training.

Yesterday we focused on proper running apparel. I must admit, I assumed running was a cheap sport. I mean really, all you need are a pair of shoes, shorts and a T-shirt, right? Oh no! There's all these specialized garments you need to wear. My husband's ratty Calvin and Hobbs T-shirt--inappropriate. My cotton based jogging pants--oh the horror! Cotton, I have learned, is rotten. Remember the old cotton campaigns: "The look, the feel, the cotten, the fabric of our lives", with images of people snuggled up in cottony soft goodness. Well....the new running capmaign is quite simple" "Cotton is rotten", insert image of sweat soaked T-shirts and heavy funky socks, and hot drippy drawers (sorry). Cotten soaks up moisture and causes blisters and funk and other unimaginable horrors--(cotten industry, don't sue me, this is what I was told). There was enough cotton bashing that I wanted to come home and burn all my damn Q-tips to keep the evil fabric away from my family. So, I;ve been indoctrinated, "cotton bad, synthetic fibers with wick away materials good".

I learned that there is underwear that is made to wick away moisture while running. Who'da thunk it? Did I mention that this portion of the lecture was being taught by members of the older more conservative members of the group. Awkward. Daisy, again is taking her notes, and decides to raise her hand and ask a very vital question "Can you run in a thong?", and more importantly "do they make wick away thongs?" Daisy noooooo! These are church folks, we don't talk about thongs with these people. I'm uncomfotable enough talking about bras with the sweet old lady describing her size 42E's. It's too much information to know about anyone, especially our conservative crew. As our elders discuss the benefits of "Body Glide", it's best to keep it to ourselves that we thought it had other more practical purposes. I remind Daisy of where we are, and whom we are running with. I tell her that she must resign ourselves to wick away synthetic granny panties and keep it moving!

Trying not to whine or wine

Last night I joined my husband anf friends to check out the Alvin Ailey Dance Company. I must admit that I am more mesmerized by the dancers impeccable physiques than I am the dancing. These dancers do amazing things with their bodies. I always wanted to be a dancer when I was kid. We couldn't afford dance lessons, and as rhymithically challenged as I am, it wasn't coming naturally. So, I do what every parent who never fulfilled a childhood dream does--I force my kids to do it for me! Both of my girls spend their Saturday afternoons doing plies and pata-beres, while I peer through the two way mirror and pretend that I'm a 7 year old prima ballerina. Don't judge me!

Anyway, during intermission it was suggested that we get a drink. I must admit that the thought of a soothing glass of crushed red grapes was calling like Pookie to crack. As I lept from my seat to run to the bar, my husband grabbed my arm and said "should you be drinking wine, athlete?" I wanted to to take my heels and dig them into his foot. How dare he question my wine consumption! How dare he use the word "athlete" so facetiously when talking to me! I am an athlete, dammit. Didn't I run 4 miles 2 days ago? haven't I been hauling my out of bed at 5 in the morning to get to the gym? Take a public shower? Don't I wear spandex? All characteristics of an athlete. And yet I am mocked because I want to sip a little wine to unwind. I promised myself that i wouldn't whine as I embarked on this adventure. I knew that it would be hard and that sacrafice was inevitable. Whining was not going to make it any more bearable. However, my experience has shown that wining (a sweet reisling) always makes things better, at least while you're sipping and the few hours that follow, and during that deep sleep.......... Sorry, I drifted off for a moment. Therein lies the rub. Wining weakens my defenses and makes we want to curl up in my bed and dream. Wining forces me to realize that running 26.2 miles is probably as goofy as me dancing in my kids' recital. Wining is totally counter-productive to getting up and donning spandex and hiting the gym! To get all Jesse Jackson with it, "I can't win with wine" (well it doesn't rhyme but you get the the point). So, I am committed to no whining anout no wining, and no wining on nights before a run. That seems fair right?

And so it begins........

Back when I was in highschool I joined the cross country team. I didn't join because I had some life long love of running in the great outdoors. I grew up in the projects--we ran to get away from the dudes that tried to rob us outside the candy store. No, I joined for mcuh more simplistic reasons; to be be near a boy. He apparently had a love for running in the great outdoors, while I faked like I did too. I hated running. I mean I HATED running. Noone told me that that cross country runners ran 2 mile races. 2 MILES-in one race--without stopping. Not that it would matter if were 1 mile, or 1 block for that matter. I sucked at it. During my first meet, I got off to a hearty start and got winded about 3 minutes into the race. All I could see was dozens of runners whizzing by me as I struggled for breath. Realizing that that there was no way on earth that I could complete the race, I did what any self respecting, fake runner, trying to impress a boy girl would do--I threw my body to the ground, and pretended to faint. While a horrible runner, I proved to be quite the convincing actress. I lay there closing my eyes and holding myself together while runners jumped over my "lifeless" body. I didn't giggle when I heard a franctic runner screaming "Oh my God, she fainted!" Nor did I wince in pain when my coach slapped me across the face in an effort to revive me. No, I did everything I could not to finish running that race. It was my first, and last race as a member of the LPHS Cross Country team.

Fast forward 20 years, and you'd imagine that I'd still hate running with the same passion I hated it back then. At least in my younger days I had an athletic build, a great metabolism, and time to devote to exercise. Today, I'm still carrying baby weight from my 4 year old, I have 2 children, a husband, and an often stressful job. However, nothing has provided ne with the sweet comfort of a morning run. Don't ask me how it happened, or when I was seduced by the rhythm of my feet pounding on the pavement. I have no idea. One day when I was feeling particularly stressed, I laced up my shoes, grabbed my Ipod and hit the road. I was completely and utterly at peace for the 30 minutes I devoted to myself. Miraculously the girl couldn't run 2 miles has grown into a woman who shall attempt 26.2. This is my story........