I’ve officially completed my first week of running (despite the attempted sabotage of mother nature and David’s school changing his schedule around) and I’ve realized a few things.
1. I’m in a lot better shape then I thought I would be because I’ve been hooping so much since the last time I tried running. And that’s nice.
2. I have asthma. That’s not a new realization, just something I always forget when deciding I’m going to start running again.
3. There may not be a sports bra in the world that can adequately contain the girls. They get an A+ in scoring me free drinks at bars, but an F in not putting my eye out when I run.
4. I’m super delusional about how I look when I run. When I’m running I would bet you a million bucks I look like I just jogged off the cover of Runner World magazine, but reality is so so much different.
First off, I don’t know what it is but my face turns bright bright red… like so much redder than I’ve ever seen anybody elses ever in the world when they exercise. I could easily be mistake for a burn victim, or a character from the next Saw movie (SawXXVII?) who gets her face mercilessly carved off by a crazy person with a straight razor. It is not normal, and it is not pretty.
And I’m assuming I run crooked because my shirt always pulls to one side while my boobs flop all around until eventually the one is completely covered and the other is one trampoline double-bounce away from saying hello to the whole world. Add to this that my phone that I listen to music on gets pulled from the side of my bra when I snuggly put it at the beginning of the run until eventually it ends up wedged between my cleavage which makes me look like a crazy person.
Lastly, once in middle school a guy told me I run like an orangutang. For years I told myself he was just a dick but eventually had to admit that, even though he was kind of a dick, he’s right. I run like Helen Keller spoke.
So while I’m trucking around my neighborhood thinking I look like this…
I really look like a slutty, sweaty, burn victim who thinks her cleavage is nature’s glovebox.