The True Meaning of Water Sports

Last fall, I decided to take exercising more seriously. I started running 2-4 miles a few days each week. It actually took me four days to build up to this since I had to load the IPod with my favorite songs and create multiple playlists given my moods: happy runner, bitter runner, sexy runner; (I run past Walter Reed Army Medical Hospital and there are some hotties there.)

My friend Emily emailed the other day and invited me to run a 10K race with her. Immediately I went online to a metric conversion site and promptly responded that it would be 6.2 miles. How could she suggest such a crazy thing? I have never run that far and I wasn’t too keen on the idea of attempting it in front of thousands of people.

I began to hypothesize other ideas. “You know those college pub crawls,” I said. “What if we did a Starbucks crawl and just stopped every couple of blocks.”

She responded back in her sweet, yet slightly sarcastic tone I’ve come to love. “That’s a possibility, but I’m guessing the other runners might not want a scalding latte spilt on them as you run.”

Good point. Those other runners are always such a nuisance.

While I’m hemming over the decision to publicly embarrass myself, I mention the race idea to my friend Georgia. She seems vaguely surprised after my sore-butt-from-hiking incident, but validates my Starbucks crawl idea. While I’d be extending my running time by several hours, she pointed out that I could at least stay hydrated throughout the day.

A thought comes over me. “What if I have to pee?” I say.

Georgia pauses for moment. “Well, some races have pottie spots, but I think most marathon runners just pee on themselves as they race.”

I am dumbfounded.

“Seriously, they urinate on themselves? That’s totally disgusting.”

“If you’re serious about running and are looking to get qualifying times, you do what you have to for the best speed,” she added.

I immediately imagine myself in this awesome new running outfit I will be buying for the race; a synthetic, breathable, hypoallergenic and of course, multihued jacket with matching shorts, offering versatility, comfort, and mobility. For three hours I scamper through the first 2 miles with my latte, politely chatting with my fellow runners as they overtake Emily & me.

Then as we finally turn the corner to where Larry will have been waiting, obligated to encourage my fitness efforts, my magenta running shorts transform to a lovely dark orchid color as I release my bladder. With one urination, I ruin an Armani running ensemble, a Coach fanny pack and what will most likely be a very expensive pair of designer footwear.

“Or you could just run the race and not worry about the coffee,” Georgia says.

She has a point.

So this morning I signed up with Emily to run the
St. Patrick’s Day 10K race. My Peggy Fleming-like legs will get the work-out of a life time. That is, after I buy all the new running accessories.