On an early pre-summer morning, a middle-aged woman awoke at 5:40 a.m. and sleepily dressed in her running gear, aware that her tee shirt that said “No Apologies” written across the front was donned with purpose. She proceeded to the kitchen to prepare her pre-run snack of flax toast, peanut butter and a banana. Drinking water, eating and checking her email was only the prologue to what promised to be a challenging morning.
Heading out the front door, tripping over the water sprinkler and almost being stung by a bee did not faze her, for she had but one goal in mind – conquer the ridge route. iPod on her waist (but not turned on yet), water bottle in hand, she slowly jogged East, facing the sunrise. Turning out of her neighborhood and starting up the path of doom, she had no doubts she would NOT be apologizing to anyone for failing. The trail lay ahead; a slow, steep climb. Breathing slowly, she stepped on a stink beetle (not intentionally) and increased her pace. Shortly, “the tree” was now in her line of vision, about ¼ of a mile ahead. She approached it with trepidation; thinking quickly on her feet “I cannot stop at the tree, I must forge ahead and finish this damn trail or I will be mad at myself all day.” The tree was suddenly behind her and she found herself at the summit, looking down at the little people in her neighborhood who were just stumbling down their driveways to get their newspapers, eat their fattening breakfasts and sit in a car on the freeway for an hour.
On she went, up three more hills to the finish line. But wait, this was not the end! Another four miles would be extremely cool, so she turned on her iPod and trotted down the street, thinking “I really have to go to the bathroom.” Luckily, only 2 miles away was the YMCA so off she went, with only one goal in mind – hit the head before a very embarrassing situation occurred. Sprinting to the Y with ease, business taken care of, she remembered there was one more big hill to conquer before she could easily jog it out on her way home. Throwing caution to the wind, she ran up the hill passing walkers left and right and dodging idiots with baby strollers and uncontrolled dogs. She made it to her driveway, tripped again over the same sprinkler head and entered her home.
For this middle-aged gal, the day started nicely. Dripping with sweat, she sat at her computer and emailed her trainer, for the wrath of the trainer if she failed would be more than she could handle. The Bosu would be lurking at every training session, and that would be too much for her to handle.
The End.
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