It Keeps Running, Running, and Running, Running...

Last night I jogged. It was a harrowing experience. Thank god for the infinite infinite infinite patience of good friends (and their ability to cattle prod wussies the likes of myself). I exercise at least twice a week, riding my cute little stationary bicycle "around" my apartment. But I was whipped from here to the moon and back from jogging--my body has not had such a workout in a damn long time, if ever.

Now, let me point out that I am one of those people who feared gym class, who had many a volleyball smashed into her head as she ducked and blocked her face to avoid it, who vowed never to do anything again having to do with physical fitness that had been performed by her in high school once she was finally out of that hell. And jogging used to fall into that category.

My ex- used to pester me all the time to do it. I always refused with screams and shrieks of horror at the mere thought. Even the sudden request to "sprint home--c'mon" was met with disgust and rolled eyes.

So I am happy I have at least gotten over that hump.

Though not with ease or grace, lemme tell you.

My first real run was accompanied by feelings of throwing up, a few mega-cramps in my side, and my shrieks and cries of "I'm gonna die" and "I can't go any further." I'm a whiner--a whiner EXTRAORDINAIRE when it comes to really bad-ass exertion exercising. This is why I usually don't torture people by making them exercise with me. I'm assuming AH has learned his lesson. But then perhaps he has a masochistic streak--I can only hope.

The weather WAS glorious out. The sun was beaming its fat wide grin all over the place. My body hummed with the strain, and every inch of muscle screamed out. My sides ached, my legs ached, my feet ached, I could no longer produce anything resembling spittle, I was dripping with sweat, and when I returned home I realized my face was a ripe shade of red that would have put a tomato to shame--I kid you not.

But all that being said, all the whining and the AH pushing me from behind to get my ass moving, all the wheezing and cramping and dirt coagulated to my back in a thin dusting, all that put aside, I like exercising.

When I'm all done and my body's sorted itself out without dying, it absolutely hums with angelic chords and harps and shoots glorious sun beams from it in every direction. It just fucking feels good. Like I wanna hug the world. Like I wanna fuck each and every thing that is moving on the street. Like I wanna kiss every inch and corner of my apartment. Like I wanna rip off all my limbs and dance with them beneath the moonlight.

I must make plans to jog again.

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