In other news, the licking of blisters has stopped, and I've started the infamous Couch to 5k program.
I got the app for my iphone, and that, combined with the company of my beloved black labrador, try and make up for the fact that I absolutely detest running.
I really and truly hate it.
But maybe, with each passing day, I'm starting to hate it less and less.
Although this morning's run didn't go so well. I'm not only referring to the cramp that wouldn't leave my left side, or that my dog needed to stop and sniff every other hedge- but I stupidly threw on an older pair of yoga pants this morning. I didn't realize this particular pair of pants were so shoddy that I would need to hold them up as I ran around our local university. Yours truly looked like a 1930's vaudeville act.
With all of the running I've been doing- the scale isn't moving much. You see, along with this new regime, I've somehow also acquired the appetite of a 14 year old boy. I'm STARVING. I woke up the other night, and there were bite marks on my arm. I'M EATING MY OWN ARMS IN MY SLEEP. Ok, not really eating my arms- but maybe I am eating a Girl Scout cookie or two.
Damn you, Girl Scouts. They need to revise their pledge to something like this- (you can sing it to the tune of Yankee Doodle Dandy)...
"On my honor, I will try
To sell my cookies to my country.
To help people get real fat
and to live on blood pressure medication."
Sorry. That's the best I could come up with, and I am now stupidly realizing that most of you probably don't know the real Girl Scout pledge to begin with.
In between last week's runs, I squeezed in a yoga class. (Yes, this is the most exercise my body has seen in a decade, and it's like "Hey lady! Shouldn't we be on the couch with a pack of Samoas? What's the matter with you?"). I'm certainly no yoga expert- but it does seem that in the handful of classes I've attended over the years, that somehow, someway- the person on the mat next to me farts. This happened last week. We were supposed to be doing a dog-like, camel something or other- when the lady next to me completely broke wind.
It didn't even faze her. She kept on doward camel-ing, or whatever it was- while I fell over in a collapsed heap of distress. It's bad enough that everyone's in bare feet (I think naked feet are hideous)- but FARTING? Crikey. That couch and cookies are looking mighty fine.