It’s a new year. The holidays are over. Cue the sad trombone. It was time to hang up deadly sins sloth and gluttony and replace them with the more comfortable fitting pride and anger (with a little lust thrown in for good measure – brace yourself Mrs. Nitmos). I wear these well the whole year. My garage is loaded with wine bottles, beer bottles, rum bottles, empty packets of sugar cookies, and the rudimentary beginning of a small – admittedly rustic – meth lab that I never got around to finishing. C’est la vie. Now anger will have to kick around out in the 25 degree temperature for a half hour to get all the seasonal gluttony into a half dozen trash bags.
It’s about time anyhow. I’ve gained 5 pounds. My normal POW level gauntness (or “runner chic”) has given way to a more rounded – some say “healthier” – fuller cheeked pudginess that makes grandmothers swoon with pinching fingers at the ready during strolls through the local mall. I knew I was in trouble when I tried to snort the buttons off the gingerbread man’s belly. I won’t say what I did with the frosted snowman cookies but, suffice to say, it was…unnatural. And I don’t recommend sleeping naked on a pile of Christmas goodies as I did at the height of my gluttonous sloth. (Candy canes should most definitely not go there.)
I did what any runner does to break out of an unhealthy shame/candy cane anal probing cycle: I went for a run. That’s not to say that I didn’t run at all over the last few weeks. I got a steady stream of 5 milers in…just long enough to provide cover for the orgy of sugar and booze that would follow. But this run felt different. This run was the start of the new year…getting back to normal…reversing the downward trend…retracting broken chunks of the hooked peppermint striped curve of a shattered cane, metaphorically speaking. In other words, this was the beginning of something rather than the end.
I don’t know what 2011 has in store for me but I look forward to the ride. Maybe a new half marathon PR? Finally break 18 minutes in the 5k? (That would be really nice.) Perhaps a new marathon PR including the requisite BQ that I’ll opt not to cash in again? Who knows? Whatever happens, I’d like to make running less of a job this year. I’d like to be less this guy:
What has two thumbs but no hands on the steering wheel?
2010 may have ended with a peppermint stick prison rape but, in 2011, I hold the shank.
It’s a new year…and a new me. My training log is empty but anxious. My race calendar is filling up. Feet Meet Street will (eventually) have a new look, a new vibe, and a new tone. Well, except for the pride, anger, lust, juvenile tomfoolery and random candy canaling. That’ll pretty much be business as usual.