Ah, the Joys of Running

You see, that's the joke. Running isn't really joyful for me, so I said the opposite to encourage a feeling of sarcasm. I was being ironic, do you see? Want me to explain it further? Yes?

Track started this Wednesday. I was stuck somewhere between delighted that here was my opportunity to build up a little bulk--(and my little I do, unfortunately, really mean little)--and dreading the running aspect of track. You see, I've finally come to the conclusion that I like everything about track and cross country except for the running part. When you're not very fast and you run the two mile, that tends to happen.

So I like everything about track except for running. Would this be a good time for me to tell you that I'm good at everything in basketball except for shooting, and everything in soccer except for kicking?

When I run for more than a mile or so, I go into this period of hibernation where no part of me is alive except for the pain that comes with running. Especially considering I have asthsma--(ha! he is a nerd, isn't he?)--your breathing feels caged. Your lungs seem to be bound in rope and tied to each other. Your legs feel heavy. The jacket you're wearing makes all the difference. A windbreaker's weight mold with yours. A sweatshirt feels like you're carrying another tired runner on your shoulders. Your faces is flooded with heat and irritation. Pain is all over the place in running.

My mile time is 6:17. Happy?

And for all of those lunatic outsiders who feel that running cross country or track is gay, what gives you this impression? Simply because the boys sometimes wear tights, we did yoga twice last year, and the boys make out in the lockerroom? This assumption is absurd!

So congrats to all of those who are running marathons and those who jog on will every morning at 6 right before their cup of coffee and every evening at 8 right after Lost. But I was not made for running, and that's that.