Unless this is the first time visit my blog, you know I’m a proud wogger. I’m pretty sure I made up this term. Walk+Jog=Wog. I’ve never called myself a runner, and when others refer to me as one I giggle.
Yesterday I knocked out 4.2 miles at the gym thanks to my Couch to 10k program.
All that sweat for 4.2 miles? You betcha!
The day before that, I knocked out 5 miles!
Those 4.2 miles were accomplished by jogging for 7 minutes and walking for 2 minute 6 times, as dictated by my C210K program. I don’t know exactly that makes my pace, but I’m certainly the tortoise, not the hare. However, I finished feeling whipped and proud. My legs felt strong.
Despite my pride, I still don’t call myself a runner. I have some sort of mental block against it, because in my mind, runners have special qualities that make them REAL runners.
Runners are people that don’t need walking breaks. I on the other hand, stare at the clock willing it to speed forward to the walking segment.
Real runners breeze through an easy 4.2 miles. I have to push myself mentally and physically to finish that kind of distance.
Runners know fancy terms, like negative splits. The only split I understand involves bananas and ice cream.
Real runners have fancy tools, like Garmins. I circle an indoor track 16 times for 1 mile, then keep track of miles using my fingers.
Real runners wear running tights. Though I own a pair, I wear cropped pants and a t-shirt to wog.
Real runners use foam rollers. I don’t know what to do with them and would probably end up using one like a contestant on American Gladiator.
At what point do you think one become a real runner?