For those of you who remember my wicked awesome experience running on a treadmill surrounded by infrared lights (or some kind of red light that tracks my body movements on a computerized, stick version of myself) ... you'll have noticed that I haven't said anything about the results.
Well, I got them last Saturday, when I went to see Tom to get all of the tightness worked out from the winged 10 Miler. After my incredibly long-winded version of why I was momentarily crazy, we got to talking about my superhero-esque run.
Apparently, when I run, my feet cross over the imaginary center line of my body. So literally, I'm running like a model walks the runway. IMAGINE THAT! No wonder my hips and IT bands and knees are all out of wack when I up the mileage.
I rarely quote the Simpsons, but "DOH!!"
So, now when I run, I actually have to think about what I'm doing, rather than spacing off and thinking about, oh I don't know ... how Duchess Kate and I would totally be BFFs if we lived in the same city or how the guy I eventually marry is going to laugh his head off when he learns how much wedding planning I've already done or how wonderful it's going to feel when I finally cross that finish line in Dublin in just over a year. Ugh, instead I have to think about where I put my feet!
BUT ... don't you think this means I'm qualified to model for Nike or Brooks or Asics? I mean, I run AND I can work the runway without a second thought. Plus, HELLO, I have style. And swagger. And you just can't teach any model that stuff.
(ps - I was so going to include a funny runway model picture of myself, but it just didn't work out. As in the pictures looked really really bad)