And by extension (or perhaps, self-deprecation by means of blogging), the world.
Of course, I cannot SEE myself running, but it's pretty obvious that I'm a sight to be seen. Let's consider:
1. There's the awkward running pace. Anyone out there who has run, even briefly, after not having done so for, say, ever, knows what I'm getting at (though, my syntax is always a variable). When I feel myself running, there's just so much more movement going on than one might expect. Yeah, sure. I'm talking about the extra bouncing. And perhaps the inability to maintain a constant speed. Or gait. The arms flail a bit. I've even been known to actually strike myself while running.
This just doesn't match up with my vision of what I can only assume is closely related to the ancient Native American shape-shifting. In other words, I pretty much feel like I automatically lose 20 pounds and am perfectly sculpted the moment I start running. Which makes absolutely no sense, but is the only explanation I can imagine for number two:
2. There is one major drawback of running in my opinion. Well, there are hundreds, but what I'm speaking to now is the fact that people actually WITNESS this strained, awkward display, essentially acting as a moving advertisement that flashes your (um, MY) previous months of inactivity before unsuspecting eyes.
But somehow, when I'm running, I'm convinced that people CAN'T TELL.
Because when I'm jogging along, at a snail's pace and utterly gasping for life, inevitably someone is going to drive by or be walking along. So what do I do?
In my head, having them witness me stopping will instantly burst my healthy facade and in my hands will appear the 12 cookies I ate last week. And on my head? One of those crazy beer drinking hats with the straws. But there's like milkshakes in there and shit. And I don't even DRINK milkshakes.
3. There's the in-a-fucking-bility to breathe. Right, that too.
But really. THE BREATHING. It's less about motivating my fat ass to keep moving and more about motivating my lungs not to collapse. And they're hard to bribe. Lungs. It's not like THEY drink milkshakes. Is this what C&C Music Factory was talking about when they composed that song about sweating 'til you bleed? Is it hot enough? INDEED.
4. We all know about my relationship with the neighbors. It's pretty much nothing short of STELLAR and they pretty much all SWEAT ME like, old school style. So when they see me, with milkshakes on my head, bleeding from my lungs, WHY OH WHY do they insist on saying hello?! Like, I can hardly string words into a sentence when I'm not flirting with a heart attack. When I AM?!
Neighbor: Hey! Getting quite a workout, huh?!
Me: HI! [Nothing comes out short of a MAJOR EMERGENCY SHOUT at this point. Also, single syllables.] AH. YAH. HOW. AH. YOUH. [GASP SPUTTER GASP. Self-administers epinephrine shot to heart.]
I suppose we should just leave it at that. Because soon I'll start talking about running-wedgies and sports bras. Oh, and how awful sweat smells once you break into your 30's. Because, really? I never knew I smelled SO FREAKING AWFUL.
But I'm glad you stayed so long. Here's your parting gift. You know, so you don't leave with a bad taste in your mouth. In this case, the taste of my 30-year-old sweat.