That's right, I said my WILL. TO. LIVE. Because if I had to run another freaking second, life just wasn't worth it, and I *honestly* considered lying down on that quiet suburban street, but knew it would be HOURS before a car would actually run me over. And possibly, they would not simply kill me, but instead decide to send me to a looney bin that would prescribe a treatment plan of diet and exercise, which is PRECISELY the reason I was in this pickle to begin with. Although, a solid, mood-controlling, drug prescription might not be a bad idea.
In the past 4 years, I have become a runner. But here's a little secret: I HATE RUNNING. Hate, hate, hate. A hissing, spewing, cursing kind of hate.
Why run, you ask? Because I got into this terrible habit of eating cheeseburgers at midnight (damn you, teenage metabolism), and one day I realized I was LITERALLY super-sized. Adding insult to injury, overalls (my go-to fat suit) were out of style, and if I'm being honest, probably a *little* tight. Which still wasn't a big deal, because I just went ahead and got pregnant to make it look purposeful. I. Am. Brilliant.
In retrospect, what I did was stretch my skin to accommodate an additional 60+ pound weight gain. Complete with a wardrobe of expandable clothing. Sonofabitch.
Three years and four children later, it was time to take action. Hence, the running. But in my true, manic style, I couldn't just run for 30 minutes a few times a week. No, no, no. I had to sign myself up for a half-marathon to keep myself *motivated*.
Next weekend, I will be running in my fourth half marathon. Only, as of a few weeks ago, I had sort-of decided I wasn't going to run, because I am having a few *issues*. The greatest of which, is a growth on the bottom of my foot, that I have mentioned casually on this here blog. I believe that now is the time to tell you (in detail), that I have self-diagnosed it as a foot corn, which is a truly disgusting term for a hard lump of dead skin that forms due to pressure and friction (so, so, SO many inappropriate jokes). Anyway. Based on the pain level, it appears this skin lump has grown so deep and large, it now reaches my shoulder blades, and is staging an attack on my brain (which we all know is strategically weak and unguarded). I am now, regrettably, 15% human, 85% foot corn.
Again. Seeing as I am never one to abandon a project based on time-constraints or common sense, I am running through it.
That's not the only issue. You see, I AM OLD. And today's 10-mile run has left me cursing any time I
I am aware that I could join a gym and ride the elliptical, so as to lessen the damage to my now fragile joints/bones/muscles/foot corns. Let's just FLUSH money down the toilet, because if the route to said gym includes a McDonalds? You guess which one is going to win, and in that scenario I am paying a monthly fee to get FATTER. Sure, there's yoga. But I don't tend to have the patience for a 6-month learning curve, and part of the reason people LOVE me is my non-zen-like nature, so I really hate to burst that bubble by going against my life theme. And my love (and adherence to) themes is WELL documented. DON'T EVEN SAY ZUMBA. I refuse simply on the principle that I embarrass myself quite enough on a daily basis without the aid of Latin music and mirrors, thankyouverymuch. People, YouTube now exists--you must guard yourself appropriately.
So for now, running it is. Until I am officially a large, calcification of skin void of all mobility. Here's *hoping* that foot corns will defeat body fat in the battle for my soul.