Yesterday I was determined to run and was convinced that it was going to be the best run in the history of ever. I’d had a good night’s sleep the previous night, was hydrated, fueled with a Crack Smoothie®, and was excited to start a real workout routine again. I pulled up to the gym feeling a little tired but knowing that the run would make me feel better, right?
As I got into the gym I realized that I’d had a headache for the last hour or so but attributed that to the shitty traffic I had just fought through. A girl changing nearby me was annoying me too. She was pretty much model material but that isn’t what annoyed me. It was that she was wearing a top and sports bra that were great for fabulous cleavage but that clearly didn’t support for exercise. I mean really, sex appeal at the gym? Bite me bitch. I strap ‘em down! I consoled myself with the fact that when we are 50 she’ll have saggier boobs than me because of it. Ha! I changed and made my way to a treadmill.
Now, when I talk about running, I’m actually talking about doing intervals of walking and running. I only actually run for 30 seconds at a time and then walk for a minute. I can’t sustain running for the 35 minutes that I “run” but I want to keep my heart rate up more, not get bored, actually run for a bit, and still manage to not pop a lung. The easy compromise was to do intervals. I call it running here on the blog, though, first because it takes fewer letters to type and I’m fundamentally lazy, and second because it makes me sound cooler.
So, I started the warm-up… and wanted to stop. No, I told myself, it’ll get better when you actually start the running part. Usually when I run I’m dying to get through the warm-up and just go for it but not today. I started running… and wanted to stop. No, I told myself, it will get better once you get your heart rate up. Wrong. In the second interval I realized that my legs just didn’t want to move that quickly and that I could hardly keep up with the treadmill… at 5.5mph. I was trying to take it easy already. So I slowed t down to 5mph for the rest of the runs.
In my defense I do have extremely short legs so I have to move them faster than you taller bitches when you run… just for the record.
I refused to stop, though, telling myself that I’d feel better when I finished. I’d have a blooming sense of accomplishment and pat myself on the head. So, I spent the rest of the run silently swearing at Miley Cyrus, Lady Gaga, and T-Pain in my playlist and thinking that I’d gladly break my chastity vow for Taio Cruz if he wants to break break my break break my heart… even if I have no idea what he looks like.
For the last two intervals I made myself go up in speed again just to finish right at least. I mean, I had been sweating profusely, cramping in my side, and feeling totally out of breath but my heart rate wasn’t even up very much.
When I was done I marched straight to the locker rooms in a contained petulant fury. When I got to my locker I saw a girl undressing that had clearly lost a large amount of weight already and was now about my size. I so badly wanted to ask her how much weight she had lost but considering I could only tell by the sag of her left over fat and skin, I thought it might be a bad idea. Instead I complimented her dark purple Nikes (drool!).
Once I got naked I made my way to what used to be the showers. They apparently had transformed into the Fire Swamp during my gym hiatus because I was greeted and nearly attacked by R.O.U.Ss.
I swear it was taunting me as I showered and tried to avoid combat with it.
|This masterpiece artwork was inspired by the Sneaky Hate Spiral and by Where’s The Smoke|
Confrontation with the R.O.U.S was avoided, though, and I left feeling tired and hungry. It wasn’t until I got home and smelled some delicious dinner smell in my parking lot (and I was ready to crash whoever’s dinner smelled that good) that I realized that the headache and overall shitty feelings were caused by sugar withdrawals. Sonofabitch.