Well, here's a strange turn of events: I've started running on a treadmill. Well, more like lolloping on a treadmill. It's not pretty. And it's just been twice. Let's not go crazy. I am slow and awkward. My body was not designed for running. It was designed to sit in a comfy chair with a good book. My legs are freakishly short, I don't know what to do with my arms, and there is an excessive amount of bouncing that has the potential to throw off the whole enterprise.
And yet, the last two times I've ventured onto the treadmill at the gym (I'm an elliptical gal. It's more conducive to reading.) I have been overcome by the desire to run. And so I run. For about a minute. And then I walk. But then I run again for another minute. Sometimes two. This is surprising on many levels. I mean, who knew that my body would be like, "hey, let's run!" when in the past all it's ever said was, "hey, can I have more ice cream?" (Side note: I both ran AND had ice cream tonight. You're welcome, Body.) The whole time I kept thinking, "Is this right? I have no clue if this is right. Why am I doing this? And why do they have a wall of mirrors right in front of me. Do people really like looking at themselves when they jog? I look like an Oompa Loompa being chased by a Vermicious Knid. That lady over there looks like a gazelle prancing through the veld. But it doesn't seem so bad. I guess I'll keep going."
I don't want you to think that this is a trend here. I mean, it's just been twice. And it's not like I have any idea what I'm doing. (seriously, what do you do with your arms?) I'm just really surprised by it. Because I've always said that I'd only run if I was being chased by a bear. And there wasn't a bear in sight.