My running shoes have a lot of miles on them. Airline miles, that is. I pack those suckers in my suitcase on every trip, even the trips where I know I've only got a couple of jam-packed days. And most of the time, that's right where they stay. Safely ensconced in my bag while I hit the snooze button a couple of times or mosey past the gym on my wait to meet people for dinner, trying not to make contact with the empty treadmills.
I don't know what my problem is. The few times I've actually made it out the door of the hotel to run on a trip, I really really love it. But most of the time my mild paranoia of getting lost and ending up in a "bad part of town" becomes a great excuse to skip the healthy exercise and head for happy hour. I guess the good news is that I haven't given up all hope of exercising while I'm on the road. If I can't find more running buddies than drinking buddies, I guess I have to make the mental shift on my own. It would be nice if the frequent flier miles me and my shoes are racking up were on the pavement.
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