Just another pretty girl?

Last night I found myself alone at a bar sipping on tonic water, no less.
I struck up a conversation with a young man who came up to the bar. Somehow the conversation got rolling towards military talk. He had just gotten out of Marine bootcamp! I told him that I'll be leaving close to the end of this year. *crosses fingers* He replied,


"Yeah that's cool. Just don't be afraid to sweat and get dirty. 'Cause you're going to be doing a lot of that."


I'm sorry, did my pearl earrings throw him off?


In other news my foot is fine. Must've been a pull muscle?
In other other news, I lost two more pounds this past week.

Fucking running for fun

I hate running. You know this.


Today at the wonders of 6am I strapped the iPod onto my arm and headed out into the already humid morning.

My route starts out flat for a few yards, past a few neighbors, and then dips dramatically past raw fields. I cross over a plain of grass and wildflowers and into another development.

Half a mile.

Daft Punk's “Robot Rock/Oh Yeah” is blaring, but not overly so. At my old/young age I want to protect my hearing.

The fat on my ass starts to jiggle like crazy and I kind of want to giggle.

A few cars drive by, either going to work or coming home.

Song changes to Peaches's “Billionare”.

Sweat is pouring. I think I should've put the shame aside and wore the discounted Nike runner's top. I got it for $20. Originally $50. Ridiculous.

More sweat. I should've brought a towel. Shoulda, coulda, woulda.

Dog barks.

The development ends and it's open road.

One mile.

I'm a forefront runner. Heel strikers lose.

The fat jiggling on my ass starts to hurt. I feel bad for not loosing it in the time I want.

The sun rises and the heat starts to swell.

I think my area has a heart warning for today, no? Oh fuck.

More sweat, my eyes sting.

I want to check my watch for my time, but I don't. Fucking running for fun.

Car speeds by, clearly not going 45. Glad I'm on the opposite side.

Oh fuck.

What's that?

MEEEEEH!!!!

Why does my foot hurt?

Fuck it, keep going.

Can't.

Slow down.

It's the arch on my right foot.

Now the pain is on the outside behind the lateral malleolus.

Fuck. Fuck. Cunt. Fuck.

Stop.

Car whizzes by and honks. "Hey Red!"

Fuck you. And fuck this. WHAT IS THIS?!

Wait.

Wait.

Walk.

Can't.

Limp home.

Time: 12:45.

Balls.

Not even a mile and a half.

FUCK.

I'll knock off a few seconds because I checked my watch some time after I stopped running. Still no good.

Goddamnit.

Kayne West's "Stronger".

Shush.

Walk.

Limp onto street. Almost home.

In the distance an older man, looks to be in his 60s, jogs towards me.

I feel shame.

It's hot and I didn't put sunscreen on.

His chest is out and his head held up high.

He sees my limp. Points. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I don't live far. It's my foot."

Two miles.

He continues.

Step down.

Ow.

Hobble over the hill.

More sweat.

Foot draaaags.

More cars drive by, but no comments.

Smell of tar reeks badly.

It's hot.

Reach the road home.

2.3 miles.

Right knee starts to ache.

Ah geesh.

Down a hill.

I see home.

Pick up speed.

Pain.

Before I know it, I'm home and the pain trails off. It's not so bad, but it's there. It puts a damper on the workout schedule but after a couple of months of going hardcore I think it's time for a little break.
It's not like I can run on this foot anways. As much as I hate running, if I can't physically run, I get a little blue.


By the by: I swear. A lot. Get used to it or stop reading the blog.