The other day, I planned to meet a friend for what would have been our first run together. She c0-owns/teaches at the grueling Bar Method and is in tip-top shape. Just thinking about keeping up with her was causing me to sweat. So when she bailed, I was disappointed but also a bit relieved. Me vs. Me is stress enough.
Still, my friend didn’t abandon me completely. She introduced me to Runkeeper, a new app that maps your route and keeps track of your speed, distance and time. Excited, I put on my baseball cap, grabbed my cell and cinnamon mint and headed out, full of expectation and wondering if it would work.
Sure enough, at five minutes in, Runkeeper spoke. “.52 miles. 9 minutes, 32 seconds per mile.” It worked! But apparently, I wasn’t. Although, I knew it was completely unrealistic, I was secretly hoping I’d be clocking 8 minute miles or at least 8 ½. What you don’t know, you can pretend. Right?
At ten minutes, Runkeeper piped up again. “1.17 miles. 9 minutes 37 seconds per mile.” Oh no. I’ve slowed down. I needed to up my pace before the 15 minute marker. I began to feel anxiety, I mean motivation, to preform. I sped up a bit, and waited with baited, halting breath for Runkeeper to confirm it.
Instead, the phone rang. I checked the screen. Unless it’s one of the kids’ schools, I don’t pick up. It’s my alarm company. I’m picking up. “Hello?” I pant, still running. No way I’m ruining my pace.
“This is your alarm company. Your alarm is… The police …”
“What? Huh?” I really can’t hear with the street traffic and my heavy breathing. Plus my sweat is all over my phone now, making it slippery on my ear. I have to stop. Damn.
The alarm company repeats the information. Apparently, my alarm is going off, and the police are on their way. Crap. I’m a solid 15 minutes from my house. I know, because Runkeeper just told me so with a pace of a little over 10 miles an hour, thanks to my abrupt halt. Hmph. Uh, not that I care anymore. I mean, my house might be overrun with burglars. Why would I care about that?
About two minutes go by, before the phone rings again. Of course, it’s my husband. The alarm service has called him as well, and now it’s his job to repeat the information and just add some stress.
“The cops are there!” He exclaims.
“I know!” I huff and puff in annoyance, as well as exertion.
“Hurry up!” he insists. “Uh, pant pant, maybe if I wasn’t on the phone I could move faster.”
Partly true. I don’t really think I can move faster. Plus, going back is uphill. Yeah, my impressive pace in the beginning was basically the downhill part of the run.
As I ran, I thought about the police at my house, waiting. I don’t know what it is with me and cops lately. First I had that incident with the bank fraud and was totally intimidated when I had to file a report. Then a few weeks ago, a cop showed up at my door, after my car was minding its own business parked in front of my house and got smashed. Now I was running to meet them.
My phone rang again. The husband.
“Are you there yet?”
“If I wasn’t about to die here, I’d kick your ass.”
“Just don’t let them leave till they’ve checked every inch of the place.”
I hung up. Now I’m freaked out as well.
Dripping sweat, slightly hyperventilating, I reached home and found the cops sitting outside my door. I followed them inside for a walk-thru, which turned up nothing.
I showed one of them the crawl space in the basement. He didn’t have his flashlight and shrugged, “No one is in there.”
I said, “If this was a TV movie, there would be.”
He laughed.
I said, “That’s exactly what you would do in the movie. Then I die.”
He laughed again.
Damn.
After they leave, and after I again walked thru my house with a baseball bat checking every crevice like the idiot girl who absolutely gets dead, the next thing I did was check Runkeeper. Turns out, I got back to my house in 13 minutes. Not bad, considering it was uphill.
Now I’m totally looking forward to my next run-in with the cops. For speeding.
I love this app!
Icescreammama 