|This is what I look like when I run.|
First off, I would like to say that Hannah had the honor of posting our 25th post! Holy cow! That's like a quarter of a hundred! Thank you, my Ramblers, for following our blog to this point. Please continue to follow us as we pursue the magic of blogging.
Now, onto the topic at hand. Volleyball season is coming up, so it's time for a simple Esther to get back in shape. Sloth has definitely been my vice this past month. I am horrifically out of shape. So I decided to pick up jogging again.
I love jogging. It is enjoyable to run and pretend you are being chased by a wolf monster, or maybe an angry mother-in-law. With jogging, you can laugh and smile as you pass people by, thinking happily to yourself, "That's right! I'm in shape!"
But jogging can also be a special kind of torture if you approach it incorrectly. Luckily for me, I approach nearly everything incorrectly! Here is my jogging experience.
So, I grabbed my music, put on my specialty jogging shorts, tied my hair back, took a quick gulp of water, and headed out the door. I stretched a little, which was a sign of things to come. I can't even palm the floor when I touch my toes -- just the fingertips. My Achilles tendon was acting up too. Still, I hopped onto the sidewalk and began to jog.
I was totally fine for like the first five minutes . . . and then I started to die. I hadn't given my dinner enough time to sit, so it was ravaging my insides like Godzilla would if it learned its mother was Ricky Gervais. I was in a lot of pain, but hey, I decided I would power through. I made it around the block once and a half when I decided I should probably start to walk. But as I was about to give up, I looked to my left and saw a ridiculously handsome guy riding his lawnmower.
"Oh shoot," I said. I couldn't stop then. If I did, I would look like a pathetically out of shape girl. After all, he had already seen me go around the block the first time. If I stopped jogging without going around twice, I would appear weak. (This is my way of thinking. Be happy that you are not me)
So, ignoring wisdom (forgive me, Hannah!) I continued to jog past him, even though my heart was thumping in an erratic beat that sounded like a Metallica drum solo.
I made it past him, thank goodness! I was free to hobble as I like! I slowed my pace, triumphant and happy, when I spotted a figure to my right. It was another man, not nearly as handsome, but still a viewer to my jogging abilities.
"You've got to be kidding me!" I gasped.
I couldn't give up then! If I did, I would look pathetic and weak in front two people. So I charged past them, gasping all the way.
Victory! I was past the two spectators! I was so exalted that I did a victory dance in my head. I resumed my hobble, chuckling. The chuckle was melodious as it left my lips, sounding like
"Hee-gak, glaak, haaa".
In order to cool down, I decided to finish with a walk around the block. The lawnmower guy had driven away in his fancy black truck, and the other man had gone inside. I was home-free.
Until I came across the ego-destroying monstrosity to end all monstrosities: a cute teenage boy.
"Gleehack meehackatak!" I said eloquently.
But I picked my jog up again. I was strong. I could make it. Using the final reserves of the final reserves of my stamina, I pushed past him. Success! I made it back home, red-faced but triumphant.
I went down the stairs to work out my arms. After that, I found I didn't have the energy to get back up the stairs. So I sat down for a bit, then leaned against the wall for support as I made my way back up them.
But it will only get better from here. Sure, my weakness will always be handsome boys, but they also give me motivation. Without them I would have never jogged as far as I did. So it was kind of good, in a way. I will get strong, powerful legs that will propel me past attractive people and into the heart of fitness and contentment.
Or maybe just pick up the treadmill.
Don't leave your ducks unattended,