I am planning on doing some sort of run with my friend gina, I think it’s a 10K, maybe it’s a 5K, I don’t know, I’m kind of hoping for a 100-m dash.
It certainly better not be a half marathon, because it will certainly kill me.
Anyway, I figured I better start “training” or at least maybe practice running, since the last time I ran I broke my legs.
So I practiced yesterday. It was a sad sight indeed. I’m sure most of the people in the gym were laughing at me (I run on a treadmill, at the gym, like normal, sane people…not outside, in nature and shit), wheezing and huffing along, screaming for someone to make it stop, please please just make it stop.
Today I am sore, very sore, I forgot all the places that running will make you sore. Can’t I just go home and watch TV and be lazy and fat and miserable? Can’t I just do that? Fuck exercise and fuck healthy and fuck fitness. you know, on death row, they give you a last meal, not a last exercise. and those people, the ones who come up everything, they tell us “live as if each day is your last” and if today is my last day I’m not going to spend it EXERCISING.
god damn it.
speaking of exercise, I had a dream a week or two ago that I hired a personal trainer. She was very motivating and got me to start running again, because as much as I fucking hate it, I really do enjoy it. She had me outside, running trails, going further and longer than I expected. It was cool. Then I had one of those annoying dream shifts and we were suddenly doing yoga together, and she was pregnant and acting very weird and bending in all the wrong ways. It freaked me out, both in the dream and when I woke up. Not sure what it means or even why I bothered to share it, but the fact that I remember it after all this time means the dream had some sort of importance to me. What does a personal trainer who is pregnant, gets me running and does strange yoga positions mean to me exactly?
when I was younger, I used to be very good at running short distances. In track, I was always winning the dashes. I’m short with short legs, but for whatever reason, I could start off fast and stay fast for small intervals. I was slow at the mile runs and the longer treks, and I definitely couldn’t jump hurdles or any of that fancy stuff. but the dashes? I was awesome.
I kept many of the ribbons and trophies I won and sometimes I will look at them and cry and sit in the dark, holding them to my heart, rocking back and forth, whispering to them.
I wish I could get ribbons and trophies now. Why are ribbons and trophies just for kids? I could use some freaking recognition. I may be 33 but I’m still a person. A person who does plenty of things to warrant an award. PLENTY.
I think I need new shoes though. the ones I have now are making my feet numb. I don’t think they should do that.
- screw those $100 headphones
- my php is broke