The Run

So I decided today that it was time to get in shape, and after thinking about running for the entire first half of summer, I figured, well, I better just get up and do it. It was overcast outside, which was a huge change from the weeks of blistering sunlight we’d been having, and when I stepped outside, it wasn’t hot. My hillbilly reasoning skills told me it was therefore okay to run, so I stepped outside, overconfident and sure of myself.




I started out jogging, and felt okay, for like a quarter of a mile. This was a huge achievement. There were no other joggers out, which was unusual---my neighborhood is chock full of them. So I didn’t feel self-conscious. In fact, I felt pretty damn good. No cars stopped to throw rocks at me, so that was a point in my favour. I felt like I blended in. I imagined people in their cars saying, ‘My, what a dedicated runner!’ and ‘She’s so brave to be outside now, when it looks like it’s going to rain, plowing through some miles!’ and whole families deciding that they were stricken by my zealous run-osity and deciding to take family runs on their own. This probably wasn’t what was happening, but I felt good whenever a car passed me anyway. I felt like, if I were to pass another jogger, they’d give me, like, the Jogger Nod or something. This is when a Jogger (a capitalized one, the ones that really know what they’re doing and think that pain is good and stuff) gives the head-nod at you to acknowledge you. It means you don’t look pathetic, basically. There’s a certain camaderie joggers share, a sort of I’m-crazy-for-inflicting-this-much-pain-on-myself-but-you’re-doing-it-too-so-it-must-be-okay-ness about it that you can really only achieve once you’ve reached Runner status. My glowy self-confidence lasted about a mile and a half into it, before it started to rain; a really unpleasant hot rain like being peed on by God, and my heart basically gave up on me.

So I turned around, gasping. By this time I realized WHY no one else was out: it was humid, so humid that it leeched all the breatheable air out of the atmosphere and left a dry husk of a world behind. My hair foofed up immediately and got in my eyes as I tried to stumble back home. I ran another half-mile before I tasted blood. Every time I landed, the sidewalk glowed bright purple. My hip felt wobbly and out-of-place. I was weaving from side to side as I grandma-jogged. But grimly, I carried on. I was listening to ‘I’ll Make a Man Out of You’ from Mulan and secretly I felt like I would let General Shang down if I stopped. But finally I had to stop, since my eyesight would randomly turn black and I really needed to get home before it started storming.




I made it home only by hightailing it through a few of my neighbour’s yards. I went for sneaky at first, but figured that would look suspicious, so I settled for full-on sprinting wildly to my house. I could always use the ‘jogging’ excuse, but by now, I’m pretty sure I looked as bad as I felt. And as I felt pretty bad, it must not have been pretty. While I banged on the window, wailing for Sister to let me in, I realized I had an Elvis pompadour for hair. Add that to my list of other afflictions (I’m pretty sure I sprained my lung) and running was downright dangerous.

I think I’ll do it again tomorrow.