Evidently, the theme of my Colorado experience is to tackle things I assumed I'd never do. Learning the guitar, for example. Singing in public - good Christ, I still can't believe that one. The latest is jogging. I've often said, "I hate running. If I'm running, look behind me. There is probably a guy with a knife." I'm just too slow and clumsy plus I've got this giant rack that bounces around. I assume it's not pretty.
Well, somehow, I've got it in my brain that Denver's Washington Park jogging path is the only path for me. I even got up early this morning and ran before breakfast. Bizarre behavior for a woman famous for her sleeping-in capabilities. I blame the State of Colorado. The culture and the climate pretty much insist that her residents be in tip-top shape so you can climb (insert mountain peak here) before noon!
Seriously, I keep waiting for Governor Ritter to knock on my door with a pair of calipers and an assistant bearing a clipboard: "Hmmm, it appears that your Body Fat Index is beyond the allotted amount for all bad ass Coloradans. I'm afraid you'll have to relocate to Kansas by Friday." Then, he'd move on to the next apartment while his super rugged helper would ask me to sign something while giving me a mixed look of pity and contempt.
I've even recruited a cheerleader for my new habit. Sharon is such an old friend that she's like family. She lives in Southern California and is a bad ass in about eight million different ways and one of them is running. Via email, she is giving me tips and says I am inspiring her too. For what, I'm not sure, but all that matters is that we're off and running.
