Oops (or the dangers of treadmills and dating)

Last spring, I ran the Broad Street Run. This was the first road run I had ever done. It was (in fact) the first time I had ever run ten consecutive miles. I finished, I didn’t totally humiliate myself and so I considered it a success. I’ve now committed to doing the Philadelphia Distance Run in September. Considering the mediocre job of training I did for the Broad Street, I’ve been trying to be a little more focused and directed about getting ready for this one (I’m still going to suck, but I will finish).

With all that in mind, I got up this morning at 6:30 am to go running. I had planned to head outside, but the sludgy fog that was hanging over Center City sent me down to the gym in my building instead. When I got there, there was only one other person in the gym, but of course he was on my favorite treadmill (there is only one good treadmill in my gym, the others all kind of suck). I hopped on the next best one, and after a couple minutes of a walking warm up, started my first 12 minute mile. I was charging along, listening to Eric Hutchinson (my new music crush) on my iPod, when I felt like the ground I was running on went all funny. For a split second, I couldn’t figure out what was happening, until I looked down and realized.

I ran right off the side of the treadmill. I am just so graceful.

What made this just a little bit more embarrassing was that the only other person in the gym, the man on my favorite treadmill, is the father of a guy I dated briefly and then inexpertly dumped. What a great way to start the day.

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