Why I Shouldn’t Gloat

Apparently I’m training for a half-marathon. That’s what my running buddy informed me of a month ago, anyway, and I do what she says because 1. I like a challenge and 2. I’m a total follower like that. Plus, running = eating well without gaining weight and I really like eating.

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This weekend, our training schedule called for a 10 mile run. My friend ended up getting hers in on Sunday morning while I was sitting in church (I think that means that God likes me better now), which meant I had to get mine in without her.

I love running, but I usually don’t love running long distances alone. So, I did what I normally do: Asked my Facebook friends if they’d want to come with me.

“I’ll walk 3 miles with you!” a friend said.

“Yeah, maybe if we lived on the same coast and if I could even run that many miles,” someone else responded.

“I’m just starting out,” someone else offered, “probably should make it around my neighborhood first without passing out.”

At the same time I put a plea out to my Facebook friends, I texted the only other person I knew who would maybe be willing to run that many miles: My friend’s husband.

He responded that he had just eaten a bag of cookies.

“All the more reason…” I challenged.

Alas, it didn’t work. So, I laced up and headed out alone.

Somewhere around mile 2 I got an idea.

I’m going to run past my friends’ house. I’ll stop on the way back and gloat about my awesome running-ness.

It motivated me. It shouldn’t have, but it totally did. Plus, I thought my friend and her husband would think it was funny.

The run was gorgeous. The sun was shining, Pandora was pumping some sweet tunes into my ear, and I wasn’t the least bit fatigued. At 4.5 miles, I reached their house and knocked on the door. When my friend’s hubs answered the door, I said (way louder than I originally intended) “Lame! You’re lame! Oh, and can I have some water?”

We chatted a moment, I hydrated myself, and was just about to set off when my phone rang. It was Clint.

“Where are you?!” he said loudly, trying to talk over very loud screams in the background.

I told him that I was about to continue back, but could tell that things weren’t going well on his end. With a great deal of mental resignation, I asked my friend if she would drive me home.

So much for 10 miles…

It was about this point that I began feeling purdy dumb about that whole “Lame!” exclamation to my friend’s husband. That karma is a youknowwhat.

When I arrived back home, the kids were, indeed, totally bonkers. Clint was dressed to go for a run himself and I told him that I’d calm the troops and that he should just go. So, he did.

I fed the kids, bathed all of us, jammied everyone up, and sat down to snuggle on the couch while we watched my new favorite Disney movie, Tangled.

A text message popped up on my phone. It was from my friend:

“Your husband just showed up at our door. He was hot and sweaty. What’s up with these Maddoxes today?”

Yeah, so, my husband set out on his run to out-do me. Not only did he make it to their house, where they laughed at a second Maddox sighting in one day, but he also made it home.

Jerk.

I suppose I deserved it, though. I did gloat about my running prowess.

Unfortunately for our friends, now I have to prove myself. Something tells me there will be another run-by gloating in the near future.

Lindsay Maddox only runs so she can eat chocolate and peanut butter without guilt. She contributes to The Balancing Act’s blogging community every Monday and doles out wittiness the rest of the week on her blog Silly Mom Thoughts.

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