Running Porn

There are many reasons I'm not a porn star.  The main reason is that I do not want to see myself in that position those positions.  It's not that I don't enjoy those porn-like positions with my own husband in our own bedroom, which is not hard-wired with video equipment, by the by.  But, I have no desire to look at myself in that situation those situations.  Funny thing:  I have the same feelings about my running.


Not that I think running is porn-like, but I do believe that while running I look just as ridiculous. Even though I run in my neighborhood, I don't believe anyone watches me.  I somehow have magically figured out the exact time when every single neighbor is in their own back yards and not looking out their front doors.  The thought of someone watching me while running embarrasses me just as much as someone watching me in a porno.  Not that there's one of those films hiding in the seedy vaults of East L.A. or anything.

So imagine my horror when my new friend, Rachael at Fleet Feet in Tulsa (the Blue Dome store, in case she works on commission - GO SEE HER!) suggested I hop up on the treadmill so she could {gasp} see me run.

My mind raced through various scenarios that would get me out of running in a public store that was full of real-live runners.

I could tell her I was allergic - that always worked in elementary when the teacher would tell us we had to try whatever the cafeteria served that day.  But, I already told her that I training to run a 5K.

I could tell her that it was against my religion to run on treadmills indoors, but I was pretty sure she'd just take me outside.

I could fake an injury, but the only thing I'd have to trip over was a bench and while it's completely plausible that I would trip over a six-foot long bench, it would cause real injury and I'm kinda against that.

I had no other choice.  I was going to have to run in front of her.  Honestly, if I plan to do this 5K, I'm going to have to run in public anyway.  Unless that invisibility cloak arrives that I ordered from the Harry Potter outlet...

I got on the treadmill, and she cranked that sucker up to 24 miles per hour - I think, my eyes were crossing, I couldn't really tell.  And I ran for about an hour and a half.  Or a minute.  Either way, it was a long time.  Finally, she pressed stop and I fell to the ground in appreciation of the stop button.

Me and my new BFF, Rachael, holding my pretty new kicks.
Notice Daughter 2 in the background
NOT begging me to buy her everything she sees.

Then, the sneaky little shoe artist showed a video of me running on a computer that had just recorded.  What the wha--??  She had recorded me running!  Not only had she gotten me to run in public, but she videoed me as well.  I felt the blood rush to my face as she said, "Let's watch how you move."  Just like a porn director.  At least that's what I imagine a porn director would say.

The good news is that I didn't look nearly as spastic as I imagined myself looking.  In fact, I looked good.  Damn good for a fat momma if I do say so myself.

I bought a great pair of shoes that felt fabulous.  Rachael fitted them with a special insole that would help my ankles look even better.  She also suggested several training programs to help me on my journey.  Plus she didn't even laugh when I said I needed an app that said, "Inhale Exhale Inhale Exhale" because running makes me forget to breath. I walked out one happy momma.

I just hope that when I win my first marathon, that 15-second video isn't leaked to YouTube.

Fleet Feet did not endorse this blog post.  In fact, they don't even know I wrote it.  Probably they'll not be happy that the word "porn" is used in conjunction with their business.  Maybe, however, they'd like for me become an official blogger for them.  If so, call me.  And give Rachael a raise.  She deserves it.