In an effort to counteract my quarantine cravings, I decided to run to the post office, a mere mile away. I'm not a very proficient runner but it seriously feels like the score is CARBS 10, JODI 0! You may picture me striding gazelle-like, with the ocean on my left and the Keys breeze in my hair. Graceful and athletic, ponytail bouncing, gliding effortlessly while the carbs (wines a carb, right?) just fall away. Bemused smile on my face as I match the musical beat in my airpods, smugly wondering what all the unmotivated are doing today..
Let me tell you how it REALLY was. Picture the Little Engine that Could. I think I can, I think I can. I plod along with no real technique under the blazing 87 degree sun without a hint of a breeze. My sea hag hair, sweaty and stringy is falling out of it's ponytail and my face is the color of a strawberry. I'm panting like a dog and possibly smell similarly. I finally build up a head of steam (approx. 2 mph!) and even cheerily wave at some passing cars. Look at me-I'm an athlete! Suddenly, I find myself on the concrete, flat on my belly. I totally bit it and my knees are bleeding. I hop? up quickly and try to play it off as, say, a random coconut causing me to trip. My chin hurts and both of my palms are bleeding like some weird Lenten stigmata. I decide to walk the rest of the way. Like a gazelle taken down by a zebra, I limp home to lick my wounds.
Final score: RUNNING 0, WINE 10!
Stay safe my friends. XOXO
6 months ago
2 comments:
The pride is found in the attempt and the grace in the getting up. Liking the wounds on the other hand...
Mark, thank you for assuaging my embarrassment a little! However, I did not LIKE my wounds, tee hee! XO ya big 'ol bear!
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