I am not a runner. I never have been and I doubt that I ever will be. But I was convinced by a friend yet again to buy a new pair of running shoes. Not just any pair mind you, but the kind that will pamper and protect your feet even as you pound them hard into the ground with every step you take. Of course, if you’re going to punish your feet like that, they might as well look pretty on the outside even if they are hurting in the inside. So I got mine in bright pink!
Now here’s the deal, we’ve only gone running together once with me walking more than running. And yet, get this, she wants me to invest in a pedometer as well. ”If you can track your running you’re more likely to keep running,” she said with glee as she whipped out her calorie counting, radio embedded, step tracker thingamigig. I was too busy toweling off my sweat and catching my breath to look at a tiny machine. Besides, I wear glasses, they had fogged up.
I think what I need is a heart rate monitor I shot back because for a minute there I thought someone had replaced my heart with a piston engine. Yeah, yeah, how do I get one of those? Now here’s the deal with runners, they may look good physically but mentally they are sometimes suspect. Must be too much oxygen in the brain or something. Why do I say that? Because she actually took me seriously! She’s shopping for one now even as I type and look forlornly at my running shoes.