I'm distraught. For the past two days I've been in my room - under the covers – sulking.
Sunday I finished the Long Beach Half Marathon. Notice I didn’t say ‘ran’ the half marathon. I ran 7 miles and then I pretty much jogged when I could and walked when I couldn’t, until I crossed the finish line. No Biggie. I had an off day. 3 hours 15 minutes for 13.1 miles.
I was still proud of myself. I had been running consistently for over a year. I was getting in shape. I felt good. I looked good. Wait – did I say I looked good?
There are two big problems with running races.
1. Races start at 7:00 am which means that you have to get up at 5:00 am so that you can drive to the starting line before the roads close.
2. Photographers snap your picture before, during, and after the race.
Hence, the trauma that drove me to my bed for two full days:
Oh dear God! How am I ever going to catch a man when I look like I’m one tool belt and a flannerl shirt away from rushing off to Home Depot to meet my girlfriend? (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.)
For years now I’ve wondered if it’s possible that I’m not as good looking as I think I am. After all, in my head I look pretty good.
When I started internet dating I forced myself to perform some personal level setting. I contemplated my reflection and accepted what I saw. I was not 29, I did not look 29, and even worse, my waist was certainly not a 29.
I could live with that until the race pictures came trickling in. Evidently I look like a man and run like a girl. Double Whammy - No Fair!
