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In Defense of My Existence

16 July 2005

today i'm just going to ramble for a moment for that is all i'm capable of...

I awoke so late as to be vulgar--11:30--reeling from the third sugar hangover in as many days. Stumbling into the kitchen--no coffee of, course--I reached for the hair of the dog: ice cream and pie for brunch. "This is ridiculous. I'm going to be hating life later," I thought, woofing down the last creamy morsel of peanut butter mixed with whipped topping. With a sigh of submission, I prepared a veggie turkey sandwich and attempted to satisfy my body's nutritional needs, not to mention rein in my blood's glucose roller coaster ride.

Shit! I feel like shit!

My body's a wreck. My mind's on three planets at once. I'm bored, I'm lonely, I'm lazy, and life seems a little bit scarier right now. There's only one thing to do:

I decided to go for a run.

Running has always been the only sport I could do. I ran track and cross-country as a kid and often come back to it when feeling the need to get fit. But it's been a hell of a long time. My poor lungs! Yes, I quite smoking seven months ago but what about the 12 years before when my body suffered through nearly 20 bouts of oxygen-deprivation day in, day out? And MP (fka Boyfriend) and I have been avoiding the gym lately... I'm mushy! And my diet? What about all of my sugar-binging of late? Does my body have what it needs to endure a prolonged cardiac activity or will I shut down the way those Gatorade commercials tell me I will if I don't have the right amount of electrolytes? And it's hot and sunny. It claims to be only 70 but this is Portland. When the sun is out you might as well add another 15 degrees to the thermometer (I have yet to understand this climatological phenomenon). I miss snow!!

And there I was at Duniway Park. Very Portlandy considering this particular state-of-the-art track was made out of recycled tires and soles from Nike running shoes. I take a big glug of water and start... nice and slow... only gonna force two miles on myself... nice and steady... keep the pace... 1... this isn't so bad... 2... breathing harder... 3... I figured I'd get a little cramp, just keep the pace... one mile, doing good... 5... my body hurts... 6... almost there... 7... and there I go pretending like it's my track heyday (which was in grade school, mind you) and break out like a proverbial bat... 8, two miles, I think I'm going to die.

I head for home. My side is cursing me in five languages. My legs have switched from pie to Jell-O. My stomach is threatening to clean house. And I keep running into people. College kids and progressive couples with strollers the size of Mini Coopers. This is very annoying to me at this moment. I'm crossing through Portland State University and there's some sort of fair going on. There also seem to be a lot of newbies around (perhaps they're wanna-be singers here for the Bel Canto Northwest Vocal Institute... ok, I admit it, I envy them). This is evident by the large amount of people waiting a good 15 minutes for the Streetcar. As the destined-to-be-resurrected adage goes, "if you want to go to Nob Hill, hop the Streetcar; if you want to get there quickly, walk." (What's worse is they're probably only going two stops to the library.) It's not that I have anything against 13-21 year olds, it's just that I rolled my eyes at high school kids when I was in high school.

I'm home now. Not so hot anymore. My cramp went away. My legs have accepted their inevitable veganism. My stomach is relaxed. I am relaxed. My mind is clear. I can handle the newfound scariness. I was planning on going to a coffehouse and acting all bohemian but I think I may waste the afternoon away watching Connie & Carla. That's ok, right?

And as for my body? I feel ok now but I really need to lay off the sugar.

And maybe go running more.

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