Earlier this week I ran for the first time in months... and the phrase "out of shape" doesn't quite capture my pathetic level (lack) of fitness as well as "fatass lard" does.
So it started out like any other run, and I could only prolong the inevitable so long by stretching and whatnot before it was time to get down to business. Starting out felt great, but I'm sure it always does for anybody. Besides the absolutely shitty humidity.. it wasn't a bad night and there was a nice breeze.
After just the first little bit, the out-of-shapeness hit me hard. How long have I been running? Wow... 80% left to go. It wasn't long before my lungs and legs all hated me. It was a lot easier when all they had to do was keep me upright with the minimum amount of effort... but now they were shouting for a break.
While running, I saw a homeless man almost passed out on a street corner. I must have seemed foolish to him... running for no reason. To him, energy was precious; when you live meal-to-meal... doing something like voluntarily expending large amounts of energy seems pretty unimaginable I'm sure.
I must have looked like that spoiled rich kid... having so much money he could just blow it on so many superfluous amenities without a care in the world.
Anyway: the post-run endorphin-induced euphoria was great... at least my brain was masking the utter contempt the rest of my body had for me... a grievance I would later pay for the next morning.
So basically, I'm a fatass. I've promised myself I will attempt to run as much as possible until May (at least). May 3rd my friends and I are going cliff jumping at Pace Bend Park (badass). So that will be amazing. More importantly though, I don't want to look like any more of a fuck than I already am as I'm jumping off the rocks.
I've got a way's to go...
