Running in Shame

I went running this morning.  Running is my new way to hate myself and at the same time get a little healthier.  So this morning the alarm went off at 5 am, my preferred running time.  It’s my favorite time of day actually so what better way to ruin that.  I rolled out of bed, brushed my teeth and donned the required running attire – spandex capris and a florescent top.  I tied my hair up in the highest ponytail possible to achieve the highest level of pretentiousness possible, grabbed my iPhone and headed down the street. 

I was a little over a mile in and about to turn around when I passed an older man running on the opposite direction.  He had to be in his mid to late 60’s, was in very good shape and his running looked effortless.  We exchange the appropriate runner’s smile and nod.   I ran about 100 feet further and turned around.  I could see him ahead of me and could tell he was running a little faster than I was.   I know I should step up my pace a bit so I decided to keep up with his pace.  So I started running a bit faster and for a solid suburban block I was able to keep a constant distance between us.  I kept running, the sight of his royal blue t-shirt my inspiration, and a half a block later I was breathing heavier than I like which is actually just heavy.  Pretty soon the distance between us lengthened.  AS his t-shirt faded in the distance, I trudged disgusted with myself for being outrun by a retiree.  A few minutes later and he was gone from sight completely.

I ran the rest of the way home with my head hung in shame knowing in my heart that I am just not a runner.   When I got home I weighed myself and was a pound lighter than last Tuesday.  Yes! Four more pounds and my goal will be met.  So f*#^ you old man! I will see you tomorrow.

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