Wednesday, November 4, 2009

NOT a Nalgene--bring one of those special ones from Switzerland

I’m sorry that I haven’t been writing in a while. I’ll be honest: it stemmed from insecurities. I’ve started to say shit like, “In my blog,” and to think about “blogging” as one of my hobbies and I sound like a fucking douche bag, but now that I’ve accepted that I’m ready to move on.

I wanted to feel bad about myself Sunday morning so I went and watched the marathon. (Note: do not do this with a hangover. The “cheer zone” is not an ironic zone) So I’m watching people run by and there are some couples running together and some of these people are couples and some of them are matching couples. I was watching at the end of the race so this meant that all of these couples had been running together for like 26 miles. They must be really, really in love. I know this not because they have just shared this physically challenging moment but because I was reading Cosmo and they said that when you begin to match with your partner it means you are totes in love. FACT: Once my roommate, who doesn’t read this so its fine, went on a couples run and was so rightfully ashamed that she LIED and said she was going for a run on her own. Ok, but seriously, I could never ever do that. I feel like the only time you should be sweating with your boyfriend is when your fucking him. Thoughts? Because not only is my really super hot boyfriend not big on matching outfits but it is also I don’t want to be around anyone when I’m running.

To begin with, I’m not big on running or exercising with people in general. Like when people say things like “Hey want to go for a run?” No, no I don’t because, as I’m running, I’m slowly going to start thinking about how fast we’re going, or how fast you’re going, and then I might get a little competitive. In fact, you can probably notice because I am breathing loudly; I’m a “loud breather” when I run and, when I’m thinking about whether or not I feel like pushing myself, my breath gets really fast because I just want to beat you—even though we are OBVI friends—but I’m not really suited in the lung department.

I thought about doing hot yoga once. It seemed like a really good idea until I thought about all the other people. Why did something think like this seem a fun scenario: Hey! Let’s all get into a room and sweat together. And I don’t mean a little perspiration or “glow” I mean let's fucking sweat! Yeah! Let’s be really disgusting! And you, you look like you're about 300 pounds—Ya! You come too! No it’s not a sauna because we’re going to sweat on these special little mats that have been designed just for us. And when we’re done with all this you can carry your special mat in a special case and swing it over your shoulder so everyone fucking knows you do yoga! Also, if you want, bring a special waterbottle (NOT a Naglene bring one of those special ones from Switzerland) and carry this with your mat--or clip it onto your backpack!

I mean there's another problem for me: water. I want mine in a bottle, fucking untouched by human hands, and in a square shape or with special groves for my fingers that will facilitate my grip because sometimes I walk quickly and things slide.

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