Running with Wine

So, what do you think is up with everybody-everywhere exercising?

I mean, I just cannot get away from it. And it is starting to get me in a bad mood!

What is it with all these 5k races anyhow? And why don't these runners just stick to the truth?
When someone tells me they are running in a 5K race, I want to rip off my nice girl mask and smirk, "Why don't you just admit it, you are running 3.2 miles?"

Not that I don't think that anything over the length of a grocery aisle is a hike and you ought to pack an overnight bag for the trek, but I have to wonder, why now are you switching to kilometers?


I think they just say 5k because it sounds bigger, longer- right?

I mean, sure I get it, they are all for a good cause, but how come we can't just send a check, why do we have to get all sweaty?

I guess a better question may be why does this get on my nerves anyhow?

Two words... Catholic Guilt.

Here I sit- fat, dumb and happy enjoying some of life's guilty pleasures and then I hear that knock on the front door of my soul.
And like clockwork, I take the bait and reach over to see who is there, as if I had no idea and yep- you got it...The old Catholic Guilt is staring back at me with those big, sad disapproving brown eyes.

There is just no getting away from it. At some critical point in my developmental years, someone must have either scared the beejesus out of me or into me and now this guilt thing just shows up when I am least expecting it.

I feel so guilty that I am not running right beside those well intentioned individuals.

But you know something? In my mind's eye I am.

The difference is I have a box of Raisinets in my left hand and a glass of wine in my right.


Now even friends that I considered of little or no threat of ever getting up off their sofas have joined the race.

What happened to happy hour? That is what I want to know!

My peeps used to meet at the local watering hole and drown their sorrows, now they are getting high on sweat induced endorphins and swilling Gatorade.

And here I thought the good times would never end.

But determined to not be left behind, I got my running shoes on, you know the orthopedic shoes with the special arch support insert in them, yeah, those.

I donned my best looking zippy and pulled on my yoga pants (Yes. I am calling them that now) and I sort of pranced around the family room a bit, just to see if I still "had it".

Assured that I did indeed still have what it takes, I opened my front door and breathed in deeply the fresh air and walked mind you, I did not drive, out to my mail box and I picked up all the little goodies my mailman left- lifting them high into the air pressing to the left and then the right to get a good stretching motion, back and forth with my knees bent.

Believe me this was not easy. The mail was a little heavy because the terra cotta garlic baker I'd been waiting for had arrived!

Now excited for my next meal, I skipped back up the walk and threw myself down onto the sofa, exhausted, but feeling good.

I felt like one of the "in" crowd, one of the good guys.

So what if I don't have any special charity attached to my mini K walk- at least I got up off the sofa and did something.

Who knows? Maybe by tomorrow I will be ready to walk the block.

Recognized