Running

One mile and a half. That’s how far I ran today. Without stopping.

Twelve feet. That’s how far I made it into the house before I collapsed on the couch.

I hate exercise, but at the same time I hate being out of shape. I guess I just need to figure out which one I hate the most.

Today I went the farthest I’ve ever been able to run without stopping. And the temperature was in the lower 90s. That pretty much makes me Super Woman. Well, not really, but it sounded good in my head at the time. “You are Super Woman!” It worked a lot better than last time when I tried chanting, “You have been genetically engineered by the government to be a running machine. You have bionic legs.” The latter was too long and it kept getting jumbled up every time I tried to repeat it. Plus, you have to admit, it sounds kind of ridiculous. Being Super Woman is, like, so much more believable.

I get angry every time I see someone pass me on the track. I especially hate those long-legged, gazelle-type people who look like they’re floating when they run. They make it look so easy, so effortless. I want to trip them.