The Worst Thing I’ve Ever Done

I’m lucky enough to live in a period of time in which fleeing from predatory animals is not one of my daily activities. I consider it a gift that the fight or flight part of my brain is dusty and covered in cobwebs from lack of use. I think I am truly fortunate that I can both be alive and relatively functional in society while still being in terrible, terrible shape.

Oh jeez, look at him. Look at that face, that scrunchy nose. This child perfectly captures my thoughts on my awful body

Recently I’ve looked at all these gifts I’ve been given and acted like a spoiled child on his birthday because I’ve begun the awful process of rejecting what has been given to me and trying to replace those gifts with something I think is better.

I’ve started jogging.

It’s awful. Even though I can function somewhat adequately while remaining a floppy soft-bodied naked mole rat of a man, I’ve decided it’s in my best interest to reduce my floppiness. It has been a few weeks, and I’ve run most nights, and each time I do it I am confronted with an undeniable truth.

This is the worst thing I’ve ever done.

I’ve heard a lot about people experiencing a sense of euphoria while they run, and I have an important question for those people. Do you rail a line of coke off your finger before you run or do you have some sort of mid-run sports snorter? How are so many people getting this magic rush of good feelings while doing the worst thing a person could do to themselves? What is actually in Gatorade? I run mostly at night, but I still encounter other like-minded people dutifully hurling themselves along the road, and every time I see their faces they have the same smoldering euphoria in their eyes and plastered across their lips along with a light white foam. It’s like every runner I see is caught in a slow public orgasm. And then there’s me, heaving myself along, gasping, loudly begging for death, really having the opposite of an orgasm.

I do not belong among the runners.

I can make it about 3 miles before my body falls to bits like the Blues Brothers’ car or any arts and crafts project that involves popsicle sticks. Within about 2 minutes of starting the awful jaunt, I’m having trouble remembering what step two is in the two-step process of breathing. By minute 10, the constant jarring of my body has taken the feeling from my feet. By minute 20, I’ve been cursing everything and everyone I see. After 20 minutes, I just spend every breath dryly gasping “fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck” while grandparents zoom by me on their electric scooters. I usually sprint the final stretch home, not because I have one final burst of energy to use, and not because I’m excited to end this awful endeavor. I just hope that if I run fast enough, a patrolling police officer will think I’ve just done some violent crime and am fleeing the scene, and then they will shoot me, and it will finally be over.

Just end it, would you?

18 Replies to “The Worst Thing I’ve Ever Done”

  1. Hahahahhaa. Giggles and shit. I can’t find a post on your site that doesn’t appeal to me. Even if most of the appealing seems to target the feral, grubby, misanthropic parts of me. There’s a version of me that would like to write about life this way, but I think I pillow-faced that avatar some three years ago. But sometimes I miss him. Thanks for being the parts of me I can’t spend too much time around.

    Like

  2. ‘And then there’s me, heaving myself along, gasping, loudly begging for death, really having the opposite of an orgasm.’ So someday will you blog about what happens to you when you are about to finish???? This curiosity may not kill Moira, might kill me !!!!!

    Like

  3. It’s delightful reading about other people’s nightmarish experience with running and realizing I’m not the only one dreading it. Needless to say, I could never expose my running skills (or lack thereof) to complete strangers (which means that when I run – like once per year, I make sure I never do it in public).

    Liked by 1 person

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