I ran ugly, and I'm darn proud of it

I've seen the way people run on TV and in Runner's World magazine - perfect form, controlled breathing, hair flicking in the wind and just enough sweat to enhance an already perfect tan on already perfect calves.

I don't run like that - and I imagine not many real world runners run like that. But my run isn't just unpretty - it's ugly.

One mile into tonight's group run 'round the Back Bay (not yet ALL the way around - we're working up to it) I could feel the normal flush of my cheeks steadily increasing. Soon enough the skin on my face was not only pulsing with heat, but flaming red (which, I imagine, was made even more apparent by the pasty winter whiteness of the rest of my skin).

By mile two the sweat on my head - combined with the strong wind off the water - had spun my hair into a knotted mess in the back and two frizzy, wing-like puffs on the sides.

Nearing mile three I was running like a drunkard, panting and borderline snotty.

But I didn't notice - or didn't care - and I finished with my group. Three miles we covered - 7 minutes running/2 walking - which may not seem like much to some, but wasn't easy for me.

Had I been alone, I might've cut out early and gone home for some quality time with the sofa. But that's the cool thing about a group - not that other people inspire you, per se, but that you're so terrified of looking like a lazy jerk, you keep going.

It wasn't until I got into the car that I spotted my terrifying transformation in the rear view mirror.

I ran ugly - which really means that I worked incredibly hard - and I must say I feel pretty dang proud.

Run ugly everybody.

Checking out the equipment

Running is just dandy - and I have nothing against it - but running alone isn't going to cut it (as far as my soon-to-be-G.I.-Jane-biceps are concerned). So off to the store I went to pick up a couple key items.

The first is a "matt." Apparently you're supposed to excercise on the "matt," though it reminds me of one of those old-school rollup sleds. I'll have to test the matt out on some snow next winter.

I'm guessing the matt is named after its inventor, whose name was probably Matt. He likely got tired of laying a towel on his hardwood floors to do yoga and having the dang thing slip out from under him. It's surprisingly painful to go from the arching flamingo position to the cracked-head sprawl unexpectedly.

The equipment in the photo on the right are called "waits." I'm guessing that's because even after you use them for what seems like eternity, you still have to wait and wait to see any real results.

Being an instant gratification person myself, I question how long I can swing those things around.

I did something crazy Saturday night

And it has nothing to do with the bar at the Iguana, acrobatics over kegs or waking up on Bull Feeney's bathroom floor (none of which I've done, by the way, but I'm sure there's people out there who have).

No, what I did was surprising, but it's all on the up and up. Saturday night I met up with some friends - and when they were heading off to do some drinking in the Old Port, I WENT HOME. Yes, it's true. Unbelievable, but true.

I was determined to get up early to go for a run on Sunday and no amount of nachos and beer was going to sway me otherwise.

So I went home early, woke up refreshed on Sunday and went to the gym. I realize the weather was ideal for an outdoor jog, but I find running on a treadmill is so much easier. Besides, Planet Fitness has TVs (with cable! Praise Jesus!) and I can get my Discovery Channel fix while I'm there.

It's a nice feeling - doing something good for your body rather than seeking out ways to punish it.

A fellow runner, Janice, was kind enough to send along this group photo she snapped last week. It's before the run, which is why we're all still smiling.

I'm taking bets now as to how many people will last through the entire 18 weeks.

A couch is born - and maybe a runner

IT'S A COUCH!

Cocoa Microfiber, Jr.
Born 1:37 p.m. EST
150 lbs, 87 inches

I feel like a proud mother, who after months (i.e., two weeks) of waiting and hours (i.e. 5 minutes) of pushing (by the movers) I finally have my baby in my arms (i.e., I'm sitting on it).

And love it I do, but that didn't stop me from saying a temporary goodbye for a 2-mile jaunt around the Back Bay with the training group. And to the 9 people who yesterday voted for me to ditch the run and break in the new couch - my apologies.

The run itself went well. Something about the first 50-degree day in what seems like eternity gets me inspired. Not inspiring, though, was the view of Back Bay - it looked more like the aftermath of Woodstock '94 and smelled, well, a little like the aftermath of Woodstock '94. That storm tide sure had it's way with the running path.

But I'm hardcore, remember, so I plugged along. And you know, it felt great.

It's a classic struggle: Woman v. Microfiber

I've been procrastinating the official running start. I've gone out for a jog here and there, but my heart hasn't been in it - my heart's actually be adamantly against it, giving my ribs a good thumping at every attempt at exercise. Mother Nature seems to think running's a bad idea too. Last Thursday I skipped the group run, and here's why:

Of course, that snow quickly melted, so I was preparing myself mentally to run early this week. But then this happened:

Bless the weather for encouraging my laziness! But then today - the group run day - the sun suddenly breaks through - the roads start drying - trees are lifted off running paths. I'm having trouble finding a loophole today.

But then I remembered - my new couch is being delivered today! It's like a cocoa-colored cloud sent from heaven, draped with a stain-resistant microfiber covering. I've been daydreaming of it for days and now that it's home-coming has arrived, how can I abandon it in it's very first moments as my couch?

That'd just be cruel. I owe it to the couch, after it's long journey from South Portland, to cancel any plans and cuddle it 'til morning, right?

Hardcore, with hard habits to break

The actual Reach the Beacon training started on April 5th - the day after a decent-sized snow dump. There was no way - on day one - that they were going to make us run in that cold slop...I mean, great for Iron Man wannabies, but I'm just a chubby jerk who wants to fit into her pants again.

But we did run - and right after my feet lost all feeling, and right before the snow had collected so deeply on my face that I could no longer see - I was glad of it. For all the passersby knew, I did this all the time - blazing (okay, lightly trotting) down the street despite the harsh weather.

I was hardcore. I could barely breathe, but I was hardcore.

Two miles we ran - running 5 min/walking 2 - and I was more than a little relieved that a) I was fairly on par with the rest of the group and, b) I didn't die.

To celebrate the achievement, I had a cigarette in the car on the way home.

Why run? It's a pants issue

Downward spirals are usually pretty easy to spot - they imply a quick and definite plummet, a fall from high. But sometimes plummets are in slow motion and you can easily dismiss the signs. Like when, at 28, you find yourself panting at the top of two flights of stairs (but you were carrying stuff! Those keys are heavy!). Soon, afternoon napping becomes the norm and the 10-minute walk to work is seen as an immense accomplishment.

But I can't ignore the intense feelings of loss, each time a pair of pants passes from the world of the wearable into the dark, hidden corner of my closet where the skinny pants dwell.

The bountiful collection of pants I could wear last year, left, compared to the three pairs of jeans I can still rotate through the week, right.