Pensées of a Young Girl as She Goes Out Running

Before the run, on a clear, cool summer morning:

Hmm, looks like a good day to go for a run. (endumbfuckified stupid little shit girl look, doi-doi-doi!)

During the run:*

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK, fuck, fuckin-fuck, fuck-fuck-fuck, FUUUUUCCCKKK! (fucked)

After the run:

O God, I'm gonna puke. (vomitous)

Up the stairs to her apartment:

My legs! My legs! Who stole them and replaced them with licorice sticks! (perplexed)

Checking my look, my mottled face with sweat running down in rivulets look, in the mirror:

Gah! (horrified)

Half-an-hour after the run, after her shower, in the bus:

You know, it should be FUCKING ILLEGAL to be sweating THIS LONG AFTER a RUN. (furious)

Typing a blog entry, now:

Ick. I feel sick. Ouch. My legs. And, huh? What's with my arms aching? (bemused)

Tomorrow morning, when I wake up early again, knowing that I ... 'should'? ... 'will'? ... go out for another morning run:

GROAN! (covers head under pillow) (in agony from 'day-after' aches) (resigned)

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* breaking 'during the run' down:

At the beginning:

Aw, this isn't so bad; I should do this EVERY DAY! (chipper)

A third of a mile into the run, the first uphill:

Hm, why are my legs stinging? (Pensive, but, damn, I was going for 'thoughtful')

A third of the way, a hot babe passes the other way:

"Hey!" (smiling) (trying to appear nonchalant, like: 'yeah, I do this all the time, wanna meet afterwards for a wild night of fun, hot babe?')

Half way:

You know (angrily), what's worse than going uphill? Going downhill. God! Why do all the sweat glands kick into overtime NOW, dripping sweat RIGHT INTO MY EYES?!?! ... and all over the front of my ... YOU KNOW! (meaning everything in 'front' that you don't want other people to notice, but the sweat clinging to your running tee and running shorts makes all too plain to notice, you know)

Three-quarters of the way, the long, gently sloping uphill:

What THE FUCK DOES 'GENTLY SLOPING UPHILL' mean? FUUUUUCCCKKK! Fucking Fuck. Fucking fucking fucking fuck. Fuck-fuck. Fuck. GOD! I can't breathe. Lean into it, `phfina. (desperate, like leaning into it will help at all, and yes, I know: THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID! 'Lean into ...it', geddit? ;)

Seeing my shadow in profile as I pant up the 'gently sloping uphill':

Fuck.*

(*) Meaning, remembering when I was in Monsieur Dupuis' French class back in high-school, and I always had to read the part of Jean-Paul in the text books, so M. Dupuis named me Jeanne-Paul in class, and that name got around school, and if you pronounce 'Jeanne-Paul' in Connecticut French really fast, you got my nick-name, that was totally physically accurate: 'Bean Pole'.

... like I said: Fuck.

Passing that hot babe again on her second turn, her: looking like a goddess, running past me, cool as a cucumber as I sweat and puff and pant like a 47-yr-old barfly on her 7th pack of cigarettes, ... this hour:

"Hey!" (tortured) (I don't think I carried off this 'hey' as well as I did the last one, however)

Making that last turn around a bush WAY overgrown onto the sidewalk, doubling the torque on my ankles:

It's a GOOD THING I'm not CARRYING a GUN because I would SHOOT that MOTHERFUCKER DEAD! CLEAN UP YOUR DAMN YARD, ASSHOLE! ('Neighborly')

Crossing the finish line:

O God! I'm fucking dead! O God! Fucking panties chafing my hooch and g-d 'sports'bra rubbing off my g-d nipples. Fuck. FUCK. Fucking-FUCK! ('Victorious')