Still here. Haven’t fallen off the wagon again, don’t worry. This week’s running was off to a slow start thanks to a persistent migraine I’ve been fighting off/on all week, but I did manage to squeeze in a treadmill run on Tuesday and I have another scheduled tomorrow. Today is my kettlebells day, which I’m really looking forward to.
I’m a silly prideful girl sometimes. During Tuesday’s run, a boy stepped on to the treadmill next to me. A younger boy. Okay, he was a jock and he was probably, realistically, at least 10 years younger than me. Sigh. It wasn’t that long ago when I would be mistaken for being the same age as these youngsters who seem to be entering the university wherein I work. Now…not so much.
So I was about 8 minutes into my run when Jock Boy starts running beside me. This is what I’m learning about myself: I can be freakin’ competitive! I didn’t even know this guy, his background, his athletic abilities, and here I am glancing over to see what speed he’s running at…how long he’s been going for…who am I? Why am I doing this? Why do I care? And why do I up my speed when he ups his? Am I that much of a brat? (clearly.) I shake my head at myself here. I have no answers. I don’t know. Perhaps I’m mourning the loss of my student-look-a-like status with the now 12 yr olds who attend this institution. Perhaps.
I do know, however, that when I continue to run for an additional 5 minutes longer than Jock (on top of the 8 minute head start I already had), I felt smug. Proud. Accomplished.
Does it matter? I had no idea what kind of workout this guy did before getting on the treadmill. Or, perhaps his 20 minute run was simply a warm-up to a longer workout on the field, track, wherever. Perhaps, even, he’s recovering from an injury and can only run for shorter periods. Honestly, it doesn’t matter nor should it, and really I was being a tad brattish in my behaviour, but dang it felt good to beat the pants off a Jock boy!
You can all judge me now.