I’ve been taking a brisk two mile walk a few times a week since June and by brisk, I mean that I walk fast enough to create a nice, cool breeze and yet, paradoxically, I actually sweat ten minutes in.
Why doesn’t life make sense?
And why don’t we use the word “paradoxically” more often?
The first time I became aware of this conundrum, it completely freaked me out and I jumped all around on the sidewalk, swatting at my chest and shrieking, thinking that bugs were congregating in my bra and having orgies.
But it was only the dripping of sweat.
Yes, people. I am willingly sweating, in an attempt to get healthy.
And while I’ve been sorely tempted, I have not yet ripped all the skin off my body and replaced it with a sparkly neon blue jumpsuit made out of ice packs and a portable air conditioner.
And you know what else? I have not eaten a donut in two weeks.
I mean, I’ve obviously been privy to this information this whole time but … I don’t know … it’s just so much more profound when I actually type it out loud.
I need a minute to process this.
And possibly cry.
Even though I’ve been taking these walks for several weeks now, I still stand in my driveway when I’m finished and simply wait to be blinded by my own perspiration or for a heart attack to take me right then and there, if only so I can shout to no one in particular SEE? I TOLD YOU SO. CAN I HAVE THE DAMN DONUT NOW?
But so far, I’ve only managed to successfully blind myself twice. I wind up trudging inside the house and jumping into the freezer, resigned to my fate of repeating the entire disgusting, miserable, sweaty process the next day.
Exercising makes me cranky. A little insight to my mental state of mind before, during and after my walk:
8:00 am: Shit.
8:02 am: Oh! Is that rain? Oh, please please please let it be rain. PLEASE. I can’t walk if it’s raining, right?
8:03 am: Ummm, yeah. Thanks, God. Thanks a lot. Why’d you even bother? Would a thunderstorm have killed you?
8:04 am: Yeah, like a rainbow makes it all better.
8:06 am: UGH. It’s hot.
8:07 am: So freaking hot.
8:09 am: I can do this. I can do this.
8:10 am: I cannot do this. I just can’t.
8:11 am: Are my feet really this big? Is it the sneakers?
8:12 am: Hello? Why are you calling me? I’m exercising. No, you cannot have baked ziti for breakfast. No. Have a bagel. You used to like them. Since when? You know what? I don’t care. I am walking and sweating. Goodbye.
8:13 am: Stop calling me.
8:14 am: I mean it.
8:14 am: Ooh, ooh, anytime that you want me … ooh, ooh, anytime that you need me … oooh, ooh, anytime tha… Wait. What? Oh, come on! NO WAY.
8:14 am: Pick up, pick up, pick … Hello? Who used my iPod and didn’t recharge it? Did I say you could? Dammit, I need to have things that are just mine. MINE. There are boundaries. You can’t just … *beep* … hey, what was that? That beep! … *beep* … That one! Wait, what? … *beep* … My phone is going dead? … *beep* … What do you mean? I never even use it! …*beep* … WHO USED UP MY PHONE? There are boundar … *beep* … Hello?
8:15 am: Oh, that’s great. Just great. Fine. I hope a car hits me. I’ll be lying dead in those bushes, not that they would know since I can’t call them. They’ll find my rotting corpse next week. Who’s going to make sure there’s milk and bread come this winter when we’re buried under ten feet of snow? Then they’ll be sorry.
8:16 am: Fine.
8:17 am: FREAKING FINE.
8:18 am: UGH. UGH. UGH. This is so gross. I hate summer. I hate everything.
8:18 am: *sniff* … ewwwww … is that … *sniff sniff* … Oh God, it’s me. UGH.
8:19 am: Don’t forget to tape Real Housewives tonight. Don’t forget to tape Real Housewives tonight. Don’t forget to tape Real Housewives tonight.
8:20 am: Would it kill the town to plant a few trees? What’s with all the bushes? What the hell am I paying taxes for? A forest for hobbits? Am I a hobbit? No. Thusly, I should not be paying taxes.
8:21 am: I forgot my watch. Wonder what time it is. I’m hungry. My hair hurts.
8:22 am: Who paints their house that color? Anarchists?
8:22 am: Maybe they’re color blind.
8:22 am: I feel bad now. I’m sorry, weird purplish, blue-green house with orange shutters. Why can’t I just shut up?
8:23 am: I can do this. I can do this! How does that go? That which doesn’t kill me just makes me stronger? Yeah, that’s it. Stronger! I CAN DO THIS.
8:25 am: Who’s the asshat that came up with that one? Nietz, something or other.
8:26 am: Like he had nothing better to do than sit around all day, trying to sound deep. Must be nice.
8:28 am: Make me stronger, my ass. Oh yeah? I’m raising a teenager and I’m still alive. Barely. And yet, I have the arm strength of Gumby.
8:29 am: And the wherewithal of a potato. EXPLAIN THAT ONE, NIETZSCHE. Or whatever the hell your name is.
8:30 am: Yeah, that’s what I thought.
8:30 am: Say it to the booty ‘cuz the hand’s off duty, Nietz.
8:30 am: My feet hurt. Stupid flat feet. Thanks a lot, Mom. Really. Owner of the highest arches in the eastern hemisphere save for Mickey D’s and I wind up with flat feet. Oh, but I got her love of books. Big whoop. How the hell is my reading Little Women at nine years old going to help my thighs not rub together now? Answer me that one, Mom.
8:31 am: Oh my freaking God, are you talking on a cell phone while driving? In a school zone. Are you stupid? I should call the cops and have you busted.
8:31 am: I totally would, if my phone worked. See Zoe? If you hadn’t texted the entire world on my phone last night, I could probably save a life right now.
8:32 am: Look. He’s still talking. Blah blah blah blah blah BLAH. Why do stupid people breed?
8:32 am: Just SHUT UP already, Andy.
8:33 am: Holy crap, that is a big dog. My whole head could fit in his mouth. He’s still peeing … still peeing … and still peeing. He must have a bladder the size of … I don’t know. How big is a giant dog’s bladder normally? One Mississippi, Two Mississippi, Three Mississippi … Wow. Just wow. It’s a virtual sea of urine.
8:34 am: If they ate my ziti, I am going to scream.
8:34 am: Oh, no way. NO NO NO NO NO. I’m almost home! Oh, please please please …
8:35 am: Are you freaking serious? Now it rains? I can see my house! Please, just sprinkles. PLEEEEEASE.
8:35 am: Sure. A monsoon. Why the hell not? What, the 97 inches of rain we’ve had this summer wasn’t enough?
8:36 am: Oh my God, am I …? No way. DO PEOPLE ACTUALLY SWEAT IN THE RAIN?
8:36 am: Apparently so. Who knew? Not me, that’s who.
8:36 am: I hate this, I hate this, I hate this, I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.
8:37 am: So much.
8:38 am: Shit.
Don’t you love it when things come around full circle?