Various Stages of Undress

          It’s Friday. Most people are excited about Fridays, but I am not. Fridays are the day I do my runs early. This morning I had to be at work at eight, an hour earlier than usual. This means I had to drag my ass out of bed at 5:30.

          This running thing is really starting to mess with me. I had a dream last night that I was running bare-assed. When I woke up to my 5:30 alarm, I couldn’t find my pants. What the fuck is going on?

            I sit on the toilet longer than the necessary time, talking myself out of going back to bed. This happens to a degree every morning, but this morning required a heated debate in my head.

            You can get an extra hour and a half of sleep. You don’t have to run.

            Yes, I do. I have to get it in before the week is over.

            You can do it another time. Go back to bed.

            When am I going to do it? I’m going to the farm this weekend and my father-in-law adjusted the belt on my mother-in-law’s treadmill, therefore I have deemed it unsafe for high speeds. No. I have to do it now.

            Your throat feels like crap. Your sinuses are starting to drain. Soon you will be coughing. You feel crappier than you did on Wednesday and look how well that turned out for you.

            Well maybe I won’t be such a Sally today. Lord knows I’m not eating nasty red velvet cake flavored yogurt. Besides, exercising might boost my immune system.

            I finally decide I’ve convinced myself to go, and then discover I have no toilet paper. Dammit.
            I go to get dressed and look at my sports bra with disgust. I cannot find any of my sports bras and I have the feeling that they all might be in the overflowing pile that is my dirty clothes hamper. I have a wardrobe that is so large it’s really shameful, so laundry is not something I have to do too often. But, when your gym time goes up, so do your laundry needs.

            I had to dig in the bottom of my drawer for this sports bra. It’s made by L.A. Gear, if that’s any indication of how old this thing is. I believe I wore in it high school, if not in junior high. It goes without saying that I have grown quite a bit since then, in more ways than one. My mom says half my massive chest growth can be credited to Budweiser. Well thank you, King of Beers. I do enjoy that certain side effect. I like to refer to them as my fatty hoots. It sounds more fun that way. 

            As I get dressed, I notice that a little bit of boobie hangs out the bottom of this ancient brassiere. I pull it down, and find it has no elastic left. It’s about as supportive as a baby’s daddy on Maury. And one shoulder is torn. This is really shameful. I used to combat this very thing in my three years with Victoria's Secret.

            Look at this raggy thing. Go back to bed and run when you’ve got a decent bra to wear.

            No. It will do. It’s not like I run for that long anyway. Besides, I’ve got my new PINK collection purple gym bag all packed and ready to go.

            I get to the gym and pick a treadmill in the back corner, my new favorite. No one is around me, and I’m pretty pumped about that. My new shoes feel a little more broken in and I’m trying to be an optimist about this run.

            I start. My first 90 second interval goes ok, but I still feel like I’m not getting enough oxygen. I also don’t feel very strong. Maybe there was something to that throat thing. I feel the urge to cough up some stuff.

            I didn’t get up at 5:30 to puss out on this run. Man up.

            About halfway through my intervals, I notice my bra starting to move around on me. I ignore it as long as I can, but then it just feels weird. I reach down to adjust…and there’s my boob. Shit. There is nothing between me and the gym except a discount Lady Foot Locker v-neck. I slam my hand down on the stop button and jump off. I’m done, just fucking done.

            Again, I got up at 5:30. For God's sake, if you aren’t going to run, do something since you're here.

            I got on the elliptical for a half hour, limiting my upper body movements. This actually made for a good leg workout, but I fail to see the upside.

            Let’s recap. This week I had a deceptively good run, then almost vomited on myself, and then showed off the goods to the gym. Dammit, why I can't I do things like normal people? Instead something awkward always happens. This week is a fucking wash. I’m clearly not ready to advance with my training.