I am a sweatshop!
I can't stop coughing!
My poor neighbor poked his head around the hedge to see if I was gonna be okay!
Coughs catching in my throat that makes it sound like I'll puke. I am shiny all over...it's kind of sexy, like I'm in a music video, but then again I can't see my face...so that's good thing.
T-shirt pulled up on top of my head to soak up some of the wetness on my face. I must look like a ragged nun! Ha! Red faced and angry looking! Okay, I'm scaring myself, let's get to the point...
I am crapping my pants about Sunday's run. Since I got this damned chest cold, it feels like my training hasn't been taking. I've done nearly every run the guide has told me to do, but I haven't felt great about them since I've been hacking the demons out of my chest cavity...oh there goes another drop of sweat rolling down my back.
Why am I naysaying! This sucks, I am scared!
I know I can do this, but all the voices in my head are telling me ... don't, you can't.
I guess they never met the part of me that loves it when people tell me I can't do something. They don't know that I like to prove them wrong.
Huh? It just started pouring rain! I did it again! I beat you, rain! I got to run in pure, sweet sunshine! In shorts. I left the jacket at home. Oh wow, it's really coming down. Ha! It's a torrent! I just went out and stood in it, in just wellies and a coat over my sport bra and shorts! Haha! Like thunder on the tin roof, hail is bouncing off of everywhere. That is awesome. I am smiling again.
Well, saint me and call me Thomas!
It's a sign from Above! Ye gods! They want me to run! Hooray! Thanks, guys, I really needed that! Now onto the other shit I keep forgetting to mention.
OK, first: I broke down and got another gigantic chocolate bar. For the past week and a half, I tried to cut chocolate right out. Because I seriously use it as a meal replacement. I do, it's sad. I've been busting my arse, and getting an almost all over lovely tone, I thought that if I'm going to look as lean as I will ever look, well, then it's now or never, right? Yeah, well. I can't make it.
I can't do this without you, Chocolate! You and me, to the finish line and beyond...
Next: I got a pair of shorts. This doesn't sound weird to most of you, but shorts and me only very recently started getting along. I have a tough time meeting shorts I can get along with. Jeans, too, and for the same reason. I have thighs. Not bad thighs, but strong thighs, and when I exercise, it's right there where I get my muscles, but lose no, um, roundness. I remember being twelve and wishing that one day, my thighs wouldn't rest upon one another at the top of my legs, but that's advertising doing its thing, right there. My mum assured me that thighs like those that do not meet at the top are a sign of poor health. She had a name for it, but basically, if your thighs aren't squishing together at the crotch up there, you can't have babies, she said, your body won't work properly, you would be underweight. And that was that. I want to be healthy. But these thighs keep me from being able to get shorts that do not squeeze my legs out of the southern hem, or roll up right to the middle of me, and that is such a gross feeling... And a lot of jeans and pants that are my size at the waist, don't pull up far past my knees. On the plus side, it deters me from shopping. I have never really worn shorts, except to swim in. So when I have to shop, like now, since I am beginning to overheat in my calf length, black, ultra- comfortable yoga stretchies, I am in hell.
Last year I rewarded myself for working so hard physically that my body turned into a something out of a fitness magazine, and got my first pair of short shorts. I tried a run in my boom-boom's, but started to chafe in the thigh zone, and I can't handle that shit. I must have tried on fifteen pairs of shorts at the sport mart, finding only one pair only slightly bearable. I hate shopping, I hate getting all sweaty and messy looking under those ridiculously flourescent changeroom lights. I hate never just being one size and knowing it, I have to take two of each size in each brand to find out which one I am in their world. I hate only being allowed to take five items in at a time, and having to leap out from the change-room in a pair of hideous tighties that I just cannot get my head around ever wearing in public, to grab the other items that I am praying just one of will work for me!
SO I found a pair of shorts. I do not love them, but my thighs are not chafing. The first time I caught a glimpse myself in them, returning from a run and stretching in front of the door mirror, I ran out and bought tanning minutes, feeling sorry for these poor, pale, french bread looking thighs. So I am going to get a little fake tan on this morning, in hopes that I might scarcely resemble some kind of fitness machine on race day. Haha! Just a little vanity?
Okay, my neighborhood has returned from its visit to the tropics, time for me to get some work done.
fuck them
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