When my manager proposed the idea of training for five months to run the lululemon SeaWheeze half marathon, I wondered if she knew me at all. I am not a runner. My relationship with the treadmill has been rocky at best. We commit, and then one of us -- I blame the machine -- always seems to give up well before the relationship is even given a fair chance.
And what kills me is that I have always wanted to be a runner. Correction: I have always wanted to be one of those blonde, waif-like, long-legged gazelles that seem to float as they run by you, without a single bead of sweat, and a smile that says, I legitimately love running. For some reason I always picture these women as blondes, most likely because that makes them my absolute antithesis.
So there we sat, my manager and I, across from each other in the back room. She examined my handwritten goals with the same tenacity that a palm reader studies your hands, and the verdict was in. She determined that my passion for our company and love of community (lululemon speak for marketing/PR) meant that I should be the SeaWheeze half marathon rep for the west fourth store.
I knew that saying yes meant there would be no turning back, because unlike my on again/off again relationship with the treadmill, dedication to work actually means something. So I decided to do something that scares me senseless. I took a deep breath and whispered, yes. I was immediately struck by a simultaneous jolt of excitement and terror. What did I just agree to? I don’t even run to catch the bus! My internal critic began berating and lamenting my decision.
But that was in December, and now that it’s February I have had enough time to digest my commitment and maintain only a slight level of worry. Tomorrow is the first day of our running clinic and I believe the things that will get me through the first hurdles are an open communication of my ups and downs, support from my community, and constantly patting myself on the back.