In walks vanity

You wouldn't think it to look at me. I certainly don't have the workout obsessed form of a gym rat. Nor do I have a runner's legs, butt or, let's face it, grace. But my vanity has been and will be a great source of motivation for me as a runner. What inspires me is not my better self or angel on my shoulder. It's more of a chip. A sulky, sullen, chubby, chip that never matured past the age of 12. A salt and vinegar chip.

vanity

speeds me up when the 70 year old jogger tries to pass.

reminds me to lube every possible friction point so I can brag about lack of chafing.

makes me smile as if I could do this ALL day at mile 14.

likes me to crack wise with other runners as if I were a salty old veteran.

shames me into completing runs on days when I feel fat, bloated, and old.

is that small voice saying "you will not look like a quitter today even if you are all quitter inside"

Where would I be without it?

I'd had a rough day. I was feeling pretty ragged, crampy, drained. The weather was moody and the path was muddy. I'd spent the past 24 hours bursting into dry, heaving, sobs. My mood was foul and roasted before I even got to the running path. I was looking for an out.

As I began the 6 miles, I noticed the police car parked on the sidewalk just beside the path. (This is a popular perch for police vehicles. Nice view of the lakefront but nothing really happening in the way of, you know, crime. ) I passed the car and plodded on for another 30 yards or so before I just stopped. Bent over. Made a dramatic show of holding my side as if in a painful cramp. Then, I turned around and began my slow, agonizing-for-the-cameras-please, limp back to the car. I figured I'd sold the whole mysterious running injury story arc.

You see, my vanity just knew those cops were watching. And laughing.

"Here comes the failed, flabby, old, clearly-not-athletic jogger. I told ya she wouldn't last 50 yards!"
I never even made it as far as the cop perch before the the salt and vinegar kicked in. Damnit.

I turned around. I started running. Damn cops! Making deals with myself that I only had to put a little show on to prove that I wasn't just a poser. Just a 4 mile, keep-my-dignity run. I made it out to the 2 mile turn and decided to keep going. After all, how could I even bother blogging about a failed 6 miles?

And by the time I hit the the 3 mile mark, the excuses were no longer needed. The mist had been rolling in on the lakefront and the breeze had picked up. I wouldn't say there was a whiff of Autumn in the air but I was feeling a shift nonetheless. All the crap that had been in me. The terrible day. Cramps, tears, doubts, all gone. I was alone on the lakefront and the waves were splashing up over the rocks. And I was a runner again.
Thanks vanity.