I'm not Training for Ironman

...so why am I out here doing this run?? My shoes are squishy wet, my wine-sloshing belly is flashing the residents of this poor town, and I'm burping spaghetti & Italian dressing.

I shouldn't have been out running tonight. There were many signs that it wasn't to be yet I had made the mistake (curses!) of visiting TriGreyhound and had gotten all inspired in spite of myself and before I could control my fingers, I had dashed off a comment saying I was going to go for a run. But I didn't mean to flash my belly. Really. I am a 35 year-old TEACHER, for cryin' out loud. But let's be honest, 35 and my profession really have nothing to do with it. I've been waiting my whole life for my cute little midriff to materialize.

But, no, I have Ponch. The belly bulge that's been with me from 89.7 pound anorexic to 174 pound compulsive overeater. And granted, she's made of iron; I can eat and drink and still pop off a run. Like I did tonight. But still, while I embrace Ponch, I like to do my embracing in the privacy of my own home. But alas, all of my top-dog running clothes are packed for this relay race I'm doing this weekend. So after I left TG that flippin' comment, I was forced to forage. I came out with a bike shirt that was too short in the front, running shorts that reach my knees, and granny undies that reach my rib cage. Which did have the advantage of sticking out over the top of my running shorts and sort of covering a sliver of wine-swilling Ponch.

So why would I drink before a run? Because I wasn't going to run! I had resigned myself to that earlier today. Rewind. Earlier scene: I don my 2nd-to-the-bottom-tier running clothes, all ready to bike to the trail when I get the brainy idea of running a library errand first. So I do. I get my books safely INto the library and come OUT loaded with the extra large, teacher stack of reserves that had come in. To a deluge. I stood by my bike under the eaves of the library, hunkering over my books, wrapping them in a spare plastic bag I keep for just such emergencies. I decided to give the rain 10 minutes to subside. I waited out 3 teenagers (they all screamed off on their bikes after about 2 minutes) and a ballet dancer.

She tiptoed her way down the sidewalk into the library. She was wearing some kind of ballet-slipper-looking shoes that she was apparently very interested in keeping dry. She commented, "It's refreshing, isn't it?" I nodded and said, "Yep." Then she emerged 7 minutes later clutching her books in a plastic bag and tiptoed to the curb. There she stepped off into the street into ANKLE DEEP water. She was out of range before I could say, "Yep, refreshing."

But the ballet lady had wiped my windshield. I knew I had to make a move or be stranded at the library by the hundred-year flash flood. My 2-mile ride home was a blur of cars spraying me, teenagers running under the eaves of their houses, and lotso thunder and lightning. I arrived home drenched. I wrung the water out of my clothing and hung it all in the shower. I cozied up with a glass of wine, salad, a plate of spaghetti and my computer. I ate the salad and spaghetti. I sipped half of the glass of wine down, and surfed. Only to land on Trigreyhound's inspirational post. The rest, as they say, is history.

I went for a run tonight. I flashed my city. I got wet. And it was good.