On Sunday I do my long runs, because my husband is at home to take care of the kids.
Today I ran about 11 miles, with a stop for a cup of coffee around mile 5. It’s one of my regular running haunts, and I really like it because it reminds me of an old fashioned English pub.
After I’d had my cup of coffee and paid the waitress, she said: ‘It sure is a nice day for a wálk isn’t it? You must be enjoying yourself, out there wálking.’
I was a bit thrown. Because obviously, I wasn’t out on a walk. I was out on a run! But I meekly nodded and agreed with the waitress: ‘Yes it really is a lovelyAutumn day.’
But as I left I felt I had to prove something to the waitress, so I ran out the door. You know, just to make sure she got the ríght impression. But as I continued my run, her mistake kept niggling in the back of my mind: ‘Don’t I look like a runner? Do I look, heaven forbid, like a walker?’
Then I remembered how much I loathe most running clothes, with their ugly bright coloured stripes, and how I prefer my running clothes to be feminine. And I decided it might in fact be a good thing I look more like a walker than a runner. In fact I’m sure of it, because I was looking particularly smashing today, since I was wearing my SparkleSkirt.
So I suppose I’m a runner who looks like a walker who runs!
Do you look like a runner?
