Off My Soapbox

I'm coming off my soapbox--way off my soapbox--to talk about running.

My sister is a runner. She started running in high school when she joined the cross country team with a bunch of her friends. She's lithe and lean and claims that once she gets started, running just comes naturally. She's built for running.

I am not a runner. I'm short and stocky, and though I run frequently, it never comes naturally. I'm built for . . . I don't know, working in the coal mines or something.

Nevertheless, everyday but Sunday I gather up the strength to take to the road--the treadmill on a bad day--to pound out the requisite miles for whatever I'm training for. It never seems to fail that I'm passed by someone like my sister, long and lean with legs like a giselle, bounding down the road effortlessly. I imagine that when they put on their running shoes their feet cry with joy saying, "Yippee. Take us to the road and don't stop until the sun goes down." When I slip into my running shoes my feet groan, "Ugh, not this again," requiring frequent pep talks along the way just to get me home again. My legs feel like lead, heavy, thick and immovable. But, bless my heart, I keep going, pressing on. For some reason I keep thinking that someday I'll wake, having shed my coal-miner's physique, to find the lean and limber body of a runner, ready to hit the road running.

My naturally athletic sister-in-law invited me to run this big race with her and group of her equally athletic friends. Now, I'm not athletic, but I have been running almost daily for about seventeen years. And because I've been running almost daily for so long, my sister-in-law's fit friends decided I should be their team's pro runner. Uh, say what? That means I should gear up to run about eighteen miles. Gulp.

I'm scared out of my mind. I'm thinking I only have four months to morph into an ultra-fit uber runner. Yeah right. And I'm praying for a miracle though everyone assures me that the race is so much fun and there's nothing to worry about.

So, if you see me on the side of the road, trucking along more like a shetland pony and less like a race horse, do me a favor, would ya? Honk and wave. Give me some love. Because, you know, I could use all the help I can get.