I put on my Nike wicking pants - the most flattering cut I've found for my healthy back bumper - a white wicking top and a red fleece jacket. In my sports bra I look like an oddly pear-shaped 10-year-old boy. The iPod shuffle clips to my waistband. I open a Runner's World or Women's Health - not to read, 'cause reading and running is dizzying! - but just to cover the console so I can't clock-watch.

Seven miles on the treadmill is a long, long time.

I set my course and I begin.

Thud, thud, thud.

Minute one: The red fleece drops to the floor. I'm already breaking a sweat. It doesn't take long for we of Mediterranean descent.

Minute two. My Shoulder-Devil is introduced. Okay, it's time to stop.

Minute three, (Shoulder-Devil): Can I please stop now?

Minute four, (Shoulder-Devil): Please? Please? You've already run more than most people do in weeks. Months. It's good enough.

Minute five, (Shoulder-Angel): No, if you stop, you'll feel like a huge, wide, blobby failure. You've run seven miles before. You can do it. Never give up.

Minutes 6-12. Massive, Fragile Ego comes in: Never give up!!! Yeah! I RULE!

Minute 13: Approaching the zone.

Minute 14: "Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty mama ..."

Minute 15: "There's a place called Kokomo ..."

Minute 16: Yeah! Almost two miles in! I ROCK.

Minute 17: Hmmm. What kind of cake should Lola and I get for Jag's shower? Chocolate? Marble? German with the coconut frosting? No ... red velvet. Mmmm. Yup. I need to learn to make red velvet.

Minute 18: "I've got you ... to thank ... for this ..."

Minute 19, (wipes dripping forehead with towel; peeks under magazine to check progress): Argh. Almost 40 minutes to go. That's 4 miles!

Minute 20, (Shoulder-Angel): 4 miles is nothin'.

MInute 21, (Massive Ego): Yeah. It's barely more than a 5K. You do 5Ks in your sleep! Hung over! After eating an entire VIP chicken-sauerkraut pizza, writing a novel and doing hand-stands. 4 miles? 4 schmiles!

Minutes 22-30: The zone. I am back in the zone.

Minute 31: "What's cooler than being cool? ICE COLD!"

Minute 32 (face turns a deeper shade of red): Did I just sing that out loud? (This happens sometimes. It really does. Like I can't control it. Like breathing and blinking. I move my feet and generate embarassing outbursts.)

Minute 40 (turns up volume, drowning thoughts): "Did cha think this fool could never win ... lookit me, I'm a coming back again, got a taste of love and a simple wit ..."

Minute 41: I'm not sure those are the right lyrics. Oh well.

Minute 42: "I'm still standing, better than I ever did, lookin' like I took a fall, feelin' like a little kid ..."

Minute 43: Note to self: Google EJ tomorrow.

Minute 44 (Massive Ego): 4 miles down. Less than 3 to go. We ARE the champions. Of the world. Yeah, baby. yeah.

Minute 45 (Shoulder-Angel): You are doing awesome!

Minute 46: BU-URP.

Minute 47 (glancing around, mortified): Why does this always happen here? Did he hear me? I'm pretty sure he did.

Minute 49: I'm disgusting. Not only am I the singing woman on the treadmill, I'm the sweating, burping woman on the treadmill. They probably all talk about me, all the time.

Minute 50 (brow dripping; drops running down forehead and off the end of sizable nose; wipes with now-soaked and powder-streaked towel. Catches reflection in the window): I look like I just went swimming. I'm repulsive.

Minute 51-59: I'm in the zone. The, uh, Danger Zone, that is. "And shoving into overdrive ... Hiiiiiighway to the Danger Zone ... Gonna take you riiiiight into the Danger Zone ..."

Minute 60 (peeks under magazine to check progress): "This is ten percent luck, twenty percent skill, fifteen percent concentrated power of will ...:"

Minute 60: Peeks to check progress.

Minute 60.1: Peeks to check progress.

Minute 60.2: Peeks to check progress.

Minute 60.3: Peeks to check progress.

Minute 60.4: Peeks to check progress.

Minute 60.5: Peeks to check progress.

Minute 60.6: Peeks to check progress.

Minute 60.7: Peeks to check progress.

Minute 60.8: Peeks to check progress.

Minute 60.9: Peeks to check progress.

Minute 60.95: Peeks to check progress.

Minute 60.97 (Shoulder-Angel): Stop checking your freaking progress!

Minute 61: I need the perfect home stretch song. Yes ... yes ... "You got the look ... you got the hook ... to be cookin' in my book ... your face is jammin' ... your body's hecto-slamming ..."

Minute 62: Yeah! My body's hecto-slamming! Whatever that means ...

I pull the mag off the console and hit the down arrows until I reach a comfortable cool-down pace. Oh yeah. I did it. Seven miles. I'm gettin' there. I deserve Newman's Own brand Oreos dipped in white chocolate. And Doritos. Drowned one by one in a vat of Top the Tater. Or maybe I'll stop off for a Blizzard?

I walk. I smile. I stretch. I read the mag.

It's always worth it when it's over.

Tara Olson Alfonsi is the Executive Director of the NorthShore Inline Marathon, and a total fitness fanatic. She skates, she runs, she skis, she hikes, she lifts, she does the occasional tri, and she's generally always wearing something wicking. She's currently studying for her group fitness and personal trainer certifications, as well as a master's in management from The College of St. Scholastica. Her health-related Achilles heel is Cool Ranch Doritos.

 

Added on June 15, 2009