Column: Not quite a 'badass marathoner'

By Andrea Fuhrer
July 9, 2008

In general, I like to think of myself as a reasonably fit person. I pump some serious iron with my five-pound hand weights and my resistance bands every other day. I do 45-minute aerobics videos led by crazy old women in spandex (plus the one spandex-clad man in the back, checking out all the chick’s asses). Occasionally, when the sun, moon, stars, birds and all in-flight aircraft align, I even go for a run. But last Monday I must have mistaken myself for a world-class marathoner ... or at least for someone who can run for an hour without requiring medical attention afterward.

It all began when I arrived back at my dorm room after class. It was a gorgeous day, so I donned my running shoes and iPod and left (yes, I prefer to run naked — it’s so freeing). I started running through East Campus toward Broadway, and I’m not going to lie, I was feeling pretty good. I’m not typically an adventurous person, but I had just gotten my hair cut, and I was feeling pretty badass. I decided to run to Stephen’s Lake off Broadway.

This was my first mistake out of many.

So I was running down Broadway, when I realized that there was absolutely no place to cross the street without getting plowed over by multiple vehicles. I was feeling adventurous, but not suicidal. So instead of crossing Broadway, I made a detour onto Old 63.

Mistake number two. This is when things started to get really bad. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the city of Columbia is actually just one enormous mountain, and no matter which way you turn, it’s all uphill. Old 63 is no exception. I know you’re thinking that’s impossible, but you’re wrong. Get off your ass and go for a run, you’ll see what I mean.

So I was running up this mountain, and at that point, I was just desperate to get back to my dorm. I had realized that I was not quite at the fitness level of a badass marathoner ... I wasn’t even on the same level as those 80-year-old men you always see out jogging in a pair of infant-size running shorts. My hamstrings were begging for mercy.

But with no phone on me, I had no choice but to keep going.

Obviously I couldn’t just walk, because then the people driving past me would laugh. They’d be thinking “HA, look at that lazy fatty who can’t finish her run! She’s no badass marathoner!” Don’t act like that’s not what you think when you’re in a car. You see people running, you approve; you see people start walking, you laugh at their lack of endurance. No, I couldn’t start walking.

Mistake number three. This is the part where I became delirious. I ran past houses, and wondered if it would be too weird for me to stop and beg to use someone’s phone to call for help. I watched cars drive past and considered bumming a ride with a stranger. I even picked my wedgies with no concern for who was watching. This was true desperation.

Finally, I reached my dorm, and it was the best moment of my life. Seriously though. It was the best moment of my life.

I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll stick to my baby dumbbells, and my ‘80s exercise tapes. When I get the urge to run, I’ll shove a Twinkie in my mouth (seriously, who eats Twinkies?) and I’ll watch television. I’ve accepted the fact that “Billy Blanks Tae-bo Fat Blaster” is as close to badass as I’ll ever get.

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Column: Not quite a 'badass marathoner'

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