Jogging sneak attack

I learned a tough lesson yesterday during my lunchtime jog to Emily R's house (uh-huh, that's twice in one week!)... there are routes I should and SHOULDN'T take.

My office is in uptown Westerville, so I have lots of options of places to run. There's County Line (decent...but it's one big, long hill), there's the Otterbein track (with tiny co-eds?! No way), there's Sharon Woods (can't seem to get motivated to go that far), or my favorite—Hoover Reservoir...but that requires a drive to get to a place to run. Too much hassle.

Yesterday, I had the perfect excuse (and short distance) for a lunchtime run. Emily R. had called me last week to explain that her hubbie had inadvertently thieved Noah's jeans when he and David were changing the diapers of our respective sons (apparently, there was some comparison-making too... boys!). I thought that was hilarious, and an excellent reason for me to stop over and see her AND that handsome new baby boy of hers (Austin is already three weeks old!).

So, around 12:30, I changed out of my work duds—kind of funny, really... I wear jeans and t-shirts to work—shrugged on my sweats and laced up my tennies. Stretch here, stretch there, psych myself up for movement of any kind...GO!

I decided, unfortunately, that I should run up State Street for a while before cutting back through Otterbein's campus. Emily's house is less than a mile from my office, no matter which way you go, but I wanted to avoid college students if I could. Frat boys have a way with being drunk and crude on warm days during spring quarter; I didn't want to be the butt (literally) of their jokes.

Here I am, jogging south on State Street, and I approach the first store window... and then my world slows down. I know what I think I look like when I jog—back straight, unlabored trot, arms relaxed, bra doing its job, tooshie in line with my body, feeling confident about exercising. That is NOT what I saw when I stole a quick glance in the store window. At first, I think I nearly gasped out loud and tripped over my feet. I snapped my head back to the pavement, and ran on to the next store.

I couldn't resist... I looked again. This was a bigger store. I must have had at least three seconds to analyze what I saw. Oh crap. In the window was a chubby girl, hunched forward, boobs cha-cha-ing, butt bouncing (left & right, if you can believe it!!), feet shuffling laboriously, lungs heaving, face ashen & red all at the same time, eyes squinting and generally a moving train wreck.

Oh man!! This was not good. I took a right at the very next street and immediately tried to improve my outward appearance. I stood up as straight as I could, tried to tighten my bottom, and plastered some sort of happy, but serious expression on my face. Since there were no store windows in my line of sight, I cannot confirm how ridiculous I must have looked...but I can guess.

I think what I've learned here is that exercise—particularly jogging—is ugly when you're just getting back into the swing of things. If the weather weren't so gorgeous, I would confine myself indoors on a treadmill (that I don't own) until there was a vast improvement in my carriage. Since that's not my reality, I am definitely sticking to routes that don't involve reflections, save for my shadow, which, by the way, always looks svelte and fierce. Must be because she wears black all the time.

On a positive note, when I was jogging on Monday (down County Line, sans windows), an older woman called out to me, "All I can say is good for you, girl!" with a big smile. She at least had the vision to see me as a work in progress. Thanks, stranger!