I went for a run three days ago. It was ambitious, seeing as how my health club attendance has degenerated into nothingness. Actual, purposeful non-attendance. Like this: take my money, you bastard people. I won't even go to your club!
(That just doesn't make sense, as I am one frugal beyotch.)
Anyway, I hadn't gotten my run on for a while.
It was, in truth, more of a jog.
A 15 minute jog.
I should point out that I am one of those people who look pained during exercise. One of those people that you sort of pray for as they truck along. "God, please don't let that person pass out before they get where they're going." I know this because I pray for people like me.
To compound embarassment:
Since then, I have hobbled around on both inclined and flat surfaces. Me= an old woman. And when I was really pissed at a student yesterday, I had to walk him to the office like nothing was wrong. Never let them see you sweat! Nooooo!!! I sweat all the time!
I hobbled so fast that at the end I should have stretched again. After our meeting, I had to punch my thigh in order to release the muscle, allowing me to stand. I pretended that the punch was out of frustration.
"How could you let me down like this?" I said, "I'm so frustrated." Thump. Whimper. Stand.
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3 comments:
"take my money, you bastard people. I won't even go to your club!"
Ahhh! I can't completely relate to this and LOVE how succinctly you captured that weird thing that happens when joining a health club.
Ditto. I pay the YWCA every month and they can just CHOKE on it, 'cause I'm sure as hell not excercising there or anything.
hee hee, i said i "can't completely relate", but i can, oh i can. and i shouldn't comment past my bedtime when my fingers and brain just don't agree.
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