Wednesday, March 24, 2010

When will i FIT in?...

Everyone seems to be on this fitness kick lately, complete with healthy diet and exercise. So I thought I'd give it a half-hearted try myself. I did a shot of tequila, downed a salad, grabbed my ipod and headed to the park.

Upon arrival I noticed a lot of sweaty people with painful looks on their faces. I set out to be one of them.

Erratically, I ran a mile, nonstop, which was quite impressive as I stopped breathing after the first three minutes. "I know what it feels like to be a chicken", I yelled to the older man in Rockports who passed me by. He probably hears that all the time.

After that first mile I decided to "slow down" a little. This means I walked.
I noticed a tiny Asian woman pushing a sporty stroller containing babies that were also Asian. One looked to be 35. The other grinned and looked suspiciously like my father. The woman walked faster than I ever ran. In that moment I decided she was my competition. I was Rocky. She was the Russian guy. It was on. Unbeknownst to her, that is.

I started running again and it all became scooby doo-ish for a spell. I swore my feet were moving but I was going nowhere. It was then that I discovered it's not my legs that give out on me. It's my pants. I must have grazed the last remaining ice patch in the city, soaking my pant bottoms. I was now running and dragging pants and what felt like a small village of marmots behind me. Then I had to pee. I always have to pee. What do real runners do? To boot, the pressure from the new "runner's belt"/fanny pack I had just purchased on clearance from the teenager at Best Buy because my 2 year old ipod is now obsolete & no longer fits an arm band making it the equivalent to the car phone with the carrying bag according to Tommy at Best Buy, was causing my small bladder to ache.

I tried pulling my pants up but the wet ankles it caused felt too weird and I was in the early stages of camel toe. My fanny pack was riding higher and without warning it was camouflaged in deodorant stains. There was just too much pants, flesh, fluid, keys, erotic thoughts, ear buds falling out of my wet ears, chaos.

The Asian woman ran, pushing her stroller filled with children in complete serenity. I was the circus behind her. The Mad Hatter in Nike. I wanted to give her "the finger", but I couldn't catch her. She was fierce. She started off in cotton briefs and ran out in a thong. Not that I was looking.

I completed my second mile and could no longer see her. She vanished. Just like that. I'm not quite sure she even existed. I unloaded all my "equipment" and walked two more miles. It was safer that way. For everyone.

Will I run again? Sure. Until then I'm gonna keep eating salads. They never fill me up. I just get tired of chewing and have to call it a day. It shaves calories. Whatever it takes. Six in one half a dozen in another. Whatever that means...