Have you read any Anne Lamott yet?
Because you are really missing out sheer genius in writing if you have not.
Anyway, she has these glorious descriptions: her postpartum belly is a faithful puppy, resting beside her as she sleeps, her teenager’s moody side is called Phil as in “Phil was here for a visit today”, and my favorite- she calls her thighs the “Aunties”.
Well, my Aunties are LOVING the C25K, let me tell you. So much that they are singing songs of labor and pain as I walk around. When I climb stairs (of which I have MANY) they bellow out Praises and Amens and Dear God WHY’S??? I thank the Aunties, for being such good sports, for so gamely carrying my body on our jogs. I thank them especially for carrying around this butt, because this butt is not so much jogging as following us while we jog. (If Anne Lamott had a butt like mine, what would she name it? The In-Laws? The Cousins’ Illegitimate Children? Yes, I think I need to name my butt in order to survive this whole running thing.)
I actually had a completely rational train of thought while jogging last night- along the lines of “This would be so much easier if I my butt wasn’t weighing me down so much. If only it wasn’t so BIG. Yeah, then I could REALLY jog.” It was minutes before I had the clarity of thought to realize that this was exactly why I needed to be jogging. I blame it on the lack of oxygen to my brain and the fact that my body was concentrating on living and not on thinking.
Complaining from the Aunties aside, the running was not as bad as I expected. If I could stay on Week 1 for, like, 8 months, I’d be fine. What concerns me is how fast the program accelerates. Anne Lamott also says she only has three prayers: “Help me, help me, help me.” “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” And “Wow. ” I need all three- help me to not die, thank you for not letting me die, and wow! I didn’t die. Or something like that.