April 29, 2012
It's fantastic, isn't it? Waking up in the morning, sun streaming through the blinds. Stretching your bones, sliding into your wicked awesome barefoot shoes. The first step onto the asphalt. The first notes of the first song. Deep breath. Wind on your face.
You feel good.
No. You feel GREAT.
And you think to yourself, "I could run to the moon this morning. No, I could run to the sun!"
Hmph.
Spontaneous long runs. Without the proper forethought or planning.
SUCK
MONKEY
BALLS.
The first 3 or 4 miles are nothing, really. You run that almost every day. By the end of mile 4, your confidence still soars. You think to yourself, "Hey! This would be the perfect morning to see if I could try a half marathon! Fuck YES! Thirteen-point-one HERE I COME!
Mile 5. Bring it on!
Mile 5.5. You know. I probably could have worn one of my better sports bras.
Mile 5.75. A car approaches at an intersection and you pray the driver doesn't wave you by.
Mile 5.95. Is that my hamstring? I wonder if that's my hamstring. I mean, it sorta feels tight, maybe. A little. I dunno.
Mile 6. Shit. Me and Jake have a 5K coming up this weekend. If I fuck myself up the ONE time my kid actually WANTS to run with me, I will never forgive myself.
Mile 6.3. Why the FUCK did I decide to run past the Goodyear plant where they never mow the weeds?! Now I've got weeds stuck between the toes of my Vibrams! Goddamnitalltohell.....
Mile 6.5. Oh my fucking christ... does the grass ever END??!! I'm pretty sure I'd rather run in the road and get hit by a car at this point. Damn it. Just my luck. No fucking cars.
Mile 6.8. I cannot fucking believe I really thought I was going to run 13.1 miles. I'll be lucky if I make it to 7. Shit and fuck. And damn. My feet hurt. My back hurts. This bra sucks. My panties are so far up my crack I'll need a fucking entrenching tool to dig them suckers out. Entrenching tool. Holy shit. I know Sarge has been in the Army too damn long when that's the first thing I think of.
Mile 7.0. I can't believe I'm almost home. Oh my god. Who decides how long miles are supposed to be anyfuckingway? This is ridiculous. Oh shit. Here comes a car. I need to look like I'm not tired so they won't think I'm a pussy. There ya go. Shoulders up. Smile. Back straight. Move that ass, bitch. It ain't that bad!
Mile 7.2. OH. MY. GOD. It's totally that bad. My tits will never be the same. And women think breastfeeding fucks you up. HA!
Mile 7.4. Oh shit. HEAVE. Oh shit. HEAVE. Oh shit. WHEEZE. Oh shit. COUGH. Oh shit. SPUTTER......
Mile 7.5. OH HELL YES! I'm the fucking WOMAN! All y'all motherfuckers betta RECOGNIZE!
(Yeah, but you said you were gonna run 13.1 miles, didn't you?) Oh bitch, you better shut your filthy mouth fore I fuck you up! (yes ma'am).
I would have stopped at mile 2! You're a better woman than me! I detest running but it seems that is the only thing that burns my jelly belly fat, that fastest! Stay tuned to my upcoming stories about this latest adventure of mine. -And so what if you didn't do 13? You did 7.5!!!
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