I do not understand why I can run a mile on a treadmill but barely 1/4 miles in reality. It's embarrassing; it's pathetic; it's mind-boggling. I should think being outside would be invigorating. I find it to be invigorating (except when Psycho Bee attacks me).
If I can walk three miles, run 1/4 mile, do homework, bake cookies, and set up the pretense that I'm actually paying attention to a conversation I seem to be holding, all practically at the same time, why is running outside such a curse?
I've been doing a lot of driving this week and a lot of sitting while working on a research paper. If that doesn't make my ass fat, nothing will, and to be honest, I'm not losing any sleep over it. (Neither is my ass.) But I should be, and that's the issue.
If you're out driving around and you pass some idiot who appears to be walking fast but is technically trying to jog, carrying a gray sweatshirt and red water bottle, please don't honk. It might be me. And at this rate, if you honk at me, I'll have a heart attack and keel over, and then I won't be faster than anyone.
I'd at least like to make it back to the couch so I can sit down.
