Page 23 of Get Me to the Starting Line
Whatisthisguy’sproblem? It’s as if he wants me to hate him. This morning’s run was one of my best so far, and I’m irritated because I think the reason was him. It’s only been about two weeks, and I’ve been trying to run every other day but haven’t made any noticeable progress.
I think I might need new shoes.
Now that is an aspect of running I can get behind. Which is why I find myself in the running store after dropping Levi off at daycare this morning.
A saleswoman greets me as I walk in, but I wave her off. It’s picking out a pair of shoes, how hard can it be?
I need to stop asking that question because half an hour later, I’m still struggling to find a pair of shoes that feels good. My skin crawls with anxiety, and I’m already late for work.
“Excuse me, would you like some help?” the saleswoman asks.
There’s no way I can do this on my own. “Yes, please.”
She gives me a big smile like I’m a kid who made a good choice.
“Great! First, what kind of running are you thinking of doing? Long runs? Speed work?”
Thinking of doing ... she can tell I’m a beginner. I try, and fail, not to let that chafe.
“Um ... I just started running two weeks ago”—that’s embarrassing to admit—“but I have to train for a half marathon.”
“Wow, great job! When’s the race?”
“Not until next June.”
My cheeks flush with embarrassment at needing this much help. I’ve always had the answers, or at least known where to look for them. As a scientist, it’s my job to find answers. With my brain.
I don’t have to use my body as much, and having to do so is uncomfortable. I’mgoodat stuff that requires the use of my brain. Not so much my body.
“That’s good you’re starting early! Most new runners get injured by trying to do too much too soon.”
Makes sense.
She scans the discarded boxes, taking a look at everything I tried on.
“None of these worked for you?”
“I don’t think so, but I’m not completely sure what I’m looking for.”
“Alright, let’s have you hop up on the treadmill and I’ll take a look at your gait.”
What? I have to run now? She must see the expression of panic.
“Don’t worry, it’s only for a few minutes so I cansee where your feet strike.”
A few minutes. I don’t tell her that I can barely run a minute. Although, with Julien I ran for two minutes straight. If I can even believe him.
You did better than I thought.
I guess it was kind of a compliment. A backhanded one, but maybe he just sucks with words. That could be why he’s such an asshole.
No, I am not going to stand here and make excuses or justify his behaviour. What is this, the ’50s?
Once I’m up on the treadmill, she starts it, allowing me to control the speed. There’s no way this is classified as running. I’m pretty much doing a brisk walk. But when I look at her, she’s studying my legs, brows lowered in concentration, and I feel the heat rising to my face, self-consciousness overturning my stomach.
“Alright, now turn it up a little,” the saleswoman says.
My legs are burning already, and I feel like my lungs are about to explode. Stupid timer on the treadmill says it’s been twenty seconds.
