NUUN, iPod, towel, phone (in case of emergency), and motivation, which was somewhere under the towel, waiting patiently to be tapped. After an easy mile warm up, I switched gears and started my first set of 2 miles at tempo pace. I tried not to think about how hard this pace was going to be to maintain for 7.5 miles and attempted to lose myself in my music. As I was on my second set, a very cute girl...black leggings, pink shirt, high bun, etc., stepped onto the treadmill next to me. Is it strange that I noticed how put together she was? Maybe. But, I was trying really hard not to think about how much pain I was in, so I was focusing on anything but. At this point, I was looking....well...not cute. Maybe downright unattractive. I was sweating like crazy, breathing heavily and I had taken off my tank top because it was soaked through. After a couple minutes, she gives me the sideways glance. The classic "over the shoulder" look that is meant to be casual but isn't. I laughed a little to myself as I though about all the things that might have been going through her head ie:
~ Wow, she's sweating like nobody's business.
~ What is she doing with her arms? Wait, is she singing?
~ I wonder if I can switch treadmills without being obvious?
~ Um, is she okay??
I do not have a six pack. My stomach muscles are in there, but despite my best efforts over the years, they refuse to surface (damn, them). I don't typically run in a sports bra, but when I am sweating like a pig, anything goes. I do brush my hair and try and put it up nicely pre-run, but that lasts about 1/2 a mile and then it all starts sticking to my face. I don't wear make-up when I workout because, well, what's the point? Bottom line, I do make an effort, albeit slight, on my appearance, but when I'm training, most of my energy is put towards the workout. I got a couple more looks from "cute girl" as she power walked next to me, pumping her arms like mad, but keeping her hair in place perfectly. How does she do that? She attempted to disguise the staring by looking to the other side (which no one was on) or by doing the shoulder rub, as she re-focused on her own treadmill. Each time she looked, I would throw in something a little bizarre, such as my killer dance moves or some head bops, just to spice things up a bit. I might as well go all out, I thought to myself, and give her a good story to tell her friends:
"hey, you guys...I saw this crazy girl running like a maniac at the Y today. She looked like she was in terrible pain and she was doing weird dance moves and singing out loud while she ran. It was hilarious!!"
Me? I am proud to be that girl. The one covered in sweat from head to toe. The one who banged out 7.5 miles at tempo pace on the treadmill. The one who took her shirt off because it made her feel lighter for her last set. The one who rocks out to her music when she runs. The one who fist pumps when she's done. And the one who can tell this story and not give a crap what anyone else thinks!
Listen to this:
Start A Riot - Jetta