Runner’s low

Note: This blog originally published in December 2011.

I recently read an article about running [maybe I just skimmed it in the waiting room at the doctor’s office]. The gist of the article was that running can turn your body into a fat burning machine.

Based on that scant information, I decided that I was going to add running to my workout routine [by “routine,” I mean getting to the gym whenever I can—not necessarily “regularly”]. I want to be an FBM (fat burning machine). I want the initials FBM to appear after my name on my business cards.

Paula Libbey, PhD, FBM

Okay, I don’t have a PhD… or business cards.

So I go to the gym [whenever], and the same thing happens every time. I carefully choose a treadmill far away from any serious looking runners. I keep no less than 10 treadmills between the next runner and me. [I like to steer clear of the serious runners because my pace is slow. I’m not sure it even qualifies as a “pace”. It definitely qualifies as embarrassing.]

Anyway, as my thighs begin thundering away and I think I’m really haulin’ ass, Ol’ Lady Speed Walker hops on the treadmill right next to me [even though there are 75 others—not next to me—from which to choose]. I’m fairly certain that she’s walking faster than I am running, so I pick up the pace a smidge. Take that Granny!

Next thing I know, Speedy Gonzales hops on the treadmill on the other side of me [again, 75 others from which to choose]. Now I feel like I’m in a race and I don’t like it [and I’m looking over my shoulder to see what the hell Speedy is running from...Chucky, Jason, Malachi...from The Children of the Corn, some other stereotypical slasher movie character with a bloodied cutting tool such as a machete, axe, or chainsaw? ].

I was really hoping to run [jog slowly] for as long as it took to get that runner’s high feeling I’ve heard about—sounds like a blast [euphoria without a prescription!]. But now, I have to stop [due to embarrassment]. Ol’ Lady Speed Walker and Speedy Gonzales have not only ignored gym etiquette, they have totally messed with my head and cluelessly destroyed my morale. Well, maybe I did that.

Paula Libbey About Paula Libbey

Paula Libbey spent 10 years working as a copywriter in the publishing and advertising industries in New Jersey. While her career dream was to tour with a rock band as a backup singer, her severe tone deafness forced her to consider the next logical option--writing tag lines and marketing materials. Currently, Paula is a stay-at-home mom, who constantly questions her sanity while mothering her 8-year-old son and 6-year-old daughter; husband Bill, Sam the basset hound, and Lil' Bill the hermit crab.

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