Run Fatgirl Run

Running is hard and every time I do it, I feel like Simon Pegg in Run Fatboy Run. I get halfway around the track and I’m winded, craving a Marlboro. Then, my shirt pulls up just enough to expose my wobbly bits known as my stomach. It's not as hairy as Simon Pegg's but the size is comparable. I do make it around the track a couple of times - enough to feel slightly good yet depressed all the same. It wasn't the distance I originally set out to run, but at least I ran. I smugly walk off the track as my Indian landlord yells at me. Ok, that last part doesn't happen but I do have trouble running and I do remind myself of Simon Pegg. My first run after the ten-day pause was horrible. I usually take comfort in the fact that while I am not a professional athlete, I look adorable in my running gear (always important). But that day, I just looked swollen. I am sure my left butt cheek is twice the size of my right butt cheek and it really showed on Thursday. Furthermore, running around the track was comparable to a terrorist attack. I was sweating, confused, and in serious pain. The mucus made it all the way up to my eardrums for a throbbing effect. Pump pump pump pump. Fiberglass replaced my fleshy lungs and they hurt so much, they itched. I have never heard of itchy lungs before. Then, later in the evening, my ankles ached. So, after this cheerful blog, I am out to do it again. Yay?