Dearth.

I have so little to read. There are no unread posts in my Google Reader. I finished the March '08 issue of Runner's World -- again. Oh, c'mon, like you haven't re-read a magazine in your life! I've read all the Internet articles about hamstrings that I can handle, thankyouverymuch. I'm waiting to be notified that the two books -- Strides by Benjamin Cheever and What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami -- I put on reserve at the library are available.

Yup. No running today so I'd love to read about some running. And yet I have nothing to read.

Big whoop, you say?

Well. Let me tell you what happened. I took Conal shoe shopping today for his first pair of big boy shoes. Walking to the store, I caught a glimpse of myself reflected in a store window. I looked quite momified: Wearing those unflattering jeans that I am going to get rid of right now; carrying the purse overflowing with toddler paraphernalia (sippy cup, Cheerios, board book, wipes) and wrinkled receipts that have been shoved randomly here and there, just waiting for a gust of wind to help them break free of the confines of a messy handbag; and wearing the too-big, inappropriate-for-the-weather coat that did absolutely nothing to counter the unflattering fit of the jeans. (Truth be told, the coat is probably as unflattering as the jeans but I love it so and will not part with it. Ever.)

So, I caught a glimpse of myself, felt a little dowdy, and then it happened. They strolled right in front of me. The runners. The Vassar men's cross country team -- some of them limping, some of them walking with the chin-up stride of someone who only an hour earlier set a PR -- walked off their bus and into the bagel shop. Right in front of me. Practically mocking* my momified non-running state.

I drove home and thought about going for a run just to show them and then I remembered that a) I promised myself a day off after two of running and b) Owen is away all day and so there is no one to watch Conal while I run. OK, so I wasn't going to run. I could at least read about it.

I read the few posts that showed up in Google this afternoon and now here I am.

I have not shown them. Not that going running would have shown them. Nor would reading about running, really. And, honestly, there wasn't anything to show them.

Just me. Sometimes I need to show me.

Show me that I can look all of my 38 years and still be a decent, dedicated runner.

Since I can't read my way out of momification, I'll have to do the only other thing that seems to make sense in this situation: Go to my closet and get rid of those unflattering jeans. And that pair of corduroys. And that awful-length skirt that I've been hanging on to for far too long.

And then I'll put my feet up in anticipation of tomorrow's long run.

* * * *

*Yes, I do know they weren't mocking me. I know it was all in my head. I know I should run my own race. And yet, their presence made it oh-so-obvious that I am old and cannot handle running every single day and they are young, their best days probably still ahead of them.