How to Run

A Camelbak? Really? Must you?

WEATHER: 82 and breezy and dry allllll day. 🙂




MOOD: Pooped.


First things first: a couple bits of bloggy housekeeping —

1) New page!  The getsuperfreakingpumped page will inspire you by suggesting a weekly running jam that will totally blow your freaking mind and send you out the door with happiness, style, and good viiiibes, bro.

2) A reminder — Ask a Runner! is where you can ask all those questions you have always wanted to ask about running but have been too afraid that I’d berate you.  Which I will, let’s be honest.

Speaking of things you don’t know, let’s talk form, kids.  Yesterday morning, as well as Monday, I saw these women out running…women who looked even more pained and inconvenienced than your average runner.  And while I normally would wonder why, I could immediately tell what the problem was — they were running with their knees pointed DIRECTLY AT EACH OTHER.  Not even joking.  This seems to be a thing among the female set especially — what, is being pigeon-toed and knock-kneed and splay-heeled something they taught you at finishing school, right between doily-starching and man-pleasuring?  Because I’m telling you right now, Florence — I don’t care if your hips are 4 feet wide and child-bearin’…there’s no excuse for running like that.

Same goes for all you people with the floppy wrists, chins jutted forward, loud sole-slapping noises, arched backs, and nodding heads like a bunch of those ponies they got on those beer commercials on the teevee.  Really.  You’re making the rest of us hurt.  My joints ache just watching you.  Put it away.  Put it all away and don’t run again.

Or you could perhaps learn.  You look smart.  OK, yes.  I have faith in you.  Let’s have a quick rundown of:


Step 1: Admission.

As with all 12-step programs, the 12 Steps of Running Form begin with admitting that you have a problem.  So slip a running shoe on your right hand and raise it and repeat after me: “I admit that I am powerless over my poor form and that my life has become unmanageable as a result.  I will never again clench my jaw, overstride, or wear Nikes, because those things are for losers.”

Step 2: Seeking a Higher Power.

Congrats.  You’re here.  ONWARD!

Step 3: Jog in place.

OK, here’s where the practical steps start, so take a deep breath and sort of jog in place.  Good.  OK, pick your feet up a little more, and….nice.

Step 4: Move forward.

So you’re not doing so bad at that, so maybe let’s move forward a bit.  Don’t strike your heel, land on the midfoot, don’t swing your hands in front of you…nice.  Wow.  You picked that up quick.  See how easy it is?  Great.  So let’s go to…


OK, so I know I picked on the ladies earlier, but honestly, guys?  I see you all all over this goddamn town, and there’s a large contingent of you out on your leisurely morning jogs, only it’s nowhere near leisurely or even pleasant-looking, since you’re all taking AS. BIG. OF. STEPS. AS. POSSIBLE.  Just this stupid boiiiiing! boiiiiiiing! boiiiiiiing! thing, and I know, you’re tall, you think you’re going fast, so you might as well just hunker down into every step and really just kick it allll out there, but really with every step it is as if you’re trying to tell the world, “IhaveahugeWAAAAAANG!  IhaveahugeWAAAAAANG!” and honestly, the rest of us are not impressed.  You’re inviting injury.  I hope you get it.  You tool.

Step 6: Take off that silly water apparatus.

Yeah, I know, it’s none of my business.  You wearing that water belt or that Camelbak is not hurting me, and to be honest I’m just being a big big insufferable snob by telling you what to do, yeah, I know, but.  Sweetie.  That’s why God made water fountains.  And Team in Training tables on Saturday mornings along Rock Creek Parkway for you to steal Gatorade cups from.  What — are they going to CHASE YOU DOWN?  Please.  Not if you’re not bounding like a freakshow or knee-knocking like a jerkface, they won’t.

Step 7: While you’re at it…

You know, that fuel belt was weighing you down an awful lot, and come to think of it, so are all those silly clothes you’re wearing.  Maybe we should all just run naked.  As Nature intended.  Yeah.  That might be better.  You go first.  Don’t worry.  I won’t look.  <covers eyes>


Hey!  Where ya’ goin’?  HEY!  Why are your shorts on?

Step 9: Baby, baby, lemme splain…

OK, so I didn’t look MUCH.

Step 10: Let’s start over.

OK.  We can do this.  We can do it more intuitively and empathically, how about that?  I’ll put on some Tori Amos, we’ll let our hair down, sit in a circle and talk about how our running form FEELS, eh?  Maybe toss a few warm fuzzies around…OK.  I’ll coach you through this.  Go.  If your running were an animal, what would it be?


A panda?  Now you’re just f**king with me.  Hahahahahahahahaha that’s just great.  Ohhh.  <wipes tear>  Ohhhh.  Awesome.

Step 12: We do not push our coach.  We do not-

Ow!  Hey!  Quit it!

**Next week: Removing a PowerGel that an angry runner has lodged up your nose.**


One response to this post.

  1. […] Formis Peculiaris – People who run with their bodies in truly painful-looking configurations. […]


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