Monday, August 4, 2008

Worry is an unusual, but very effective, motivator

I went eight (8) miles yesterday. You should be so very proud. The weather was beautiful, and the humidity was low (and so was the Run-O-Cam's battery) -- a marvelous day for a long easy run out on the open road. But after the first four miles, I was tired and had lots to do. I had run well and since it was already getting late in the evening, I was going to just pack it up and go home.

But I went four more. Because I'm a wuss.

Now, I might have been able to run more of the last four if I'd at least gotten some water. My water was at my car. My car was in a parking lot that -- as I was approaching -- was quickly filling with fire trucks and police cars and various emergency squads. Two police cars blocked off the main road at either end of the parking lot, and were actually turning vehicles back. And my car, with my water, was parked -- alone -- in the middle of it all.

I probably could have simply asked one of the police officers what was up, should I move my car, can I please get my water. But I'm a wuss. I know it was probably just an alarm or a drill, but I couldn't help thinking that maybe they thought that my car shouldn't be there on a Sunday evening and therefore must be a threat, and so had called in an entire emergency crew to check it out. Because I'm imaginative and neurotic, too.

So I kept going. Because at the time I don't think I could have handled an interrogation, or even a suspicious glance. I figured that it would take me about another hour to do four more miles, and hoped that by that time they would have checked out what they needed to check out, or at least by that time I might be rational enough to address someone and beg to go home, because I just ran eight miles without water.

So after four more miles of mostly walking with intermittent running and some careful stretching, everyone had left, and my car was alone again as if nothing had happened while I was gone. And so I drank two bottles of water, changed into flip-flops and drove home, stopping only for ice cream. Glorious ice cream.