I’ve noticed a few ridiculous neuroses lately:

1. A few weeks ago after my last 10k, I wrote about that fact that I learned of my own poor running form. At the advice of the nice guy selling shoes (though perhaps he just wanted me to buy new shoes) I googled running form and found this New Balance Website on Good Form Running.

Basically there are four steps involved: posture, cadence, midfoot, and lean. After studying the videos, I decided to try my hand at this new fangled running form, and found that the mid foot wasn’t as difficult as I feared, but did take a good bit of concentration. I’ve also been reading Born To Run, which, in short, says that all humans were born to run (hence the title) and that the invention of super cushioned, pronation controlled shoes has actually INCREASED injuries rather than decrease them. It also advocates for barefoot running, or at the very least, a shoe with very little cushioning. (read the book runners, seriously).

Anyway, the interesting thing about this is that it turns out most runners are doing it wrong and striking on the heel (which, according to the book, is mostly due to the shoe – because if you run barefoot you automatically are forced to use better form in order to protect your feet and use the most padded part), but suddenly I’m finding myself all self conscious about my running style, peeking over my shoulder periodically while on the treadmill at the gym, wondering who  might be staring at me and wondering what the heck I am doing. Perhaps because it partially feels awkward (old habits die hard), but mostly because I feel like I look funny. It’s as if I need a running disguise.

You can’t see me

Clearly I sometimes care too much about what other people think. However, I’m still working on the mid foot strike.

2. Bryan went on one of the more recent trips to the grocery store by himself, and I had asked him to pick up some hair spray. He, unknowingly (though he does pay attention because he did get me the right brand) grabbed the “flexible hold” hairspray, which to me reads: fluffy hair. However, because I don’t want to waste it, I’ve been using it and have had this immense fear of fluffy hair.

In case you don’t know, I have insanely curly hair. It has a tendency, when untamed, to become quite frizzy. Mousse and hairspray are my staple items, neither of which I could live without without an impending panic attack. Those two things, plus chapstick, would send me on a run to a 24 hour drugstore if discovered missing.  If I don’t spray enough hair spray into my hair when the day starts, I spend all day fearing fluff head:

this is actually a tame version

If too fluffly, I’ll refuse to leave my house without fixing it first, so that I might encounter

3. The ball.

I’ve played softball on and off for 20 years. (ugh I sound old). And you know what? I’m afraid of the ball.

Which is why I play outfield or first base, because very few ground balls get hit to first, and outfield balls usually slow down after hitting the grass. For whatever reason (because its never actually happened to me) I have this fear that its going to hit some rock, bounce up and smack me in the chin.

I dunno why the chin.

And yes, I continue to still play softball. I just try to stay out of the war zones.

And sometimes have a glass of wine first.

It’s kinda ridiculous.

 My heart beats a thousand times

I forgot my hairspray

And that means a run to the store

Or I won’t go out today

I could go for a run except

I’ve begun to change my stride

And I think you might be staring at me

At the treadmill by my side

I put myself in the outfield

Avoiding the “fear of the ball” curse

My stupid fears will make me nuts

Unless I shoot them first 🙂

Advertisements