The caption reads: “It must be a proud moment when your fat arm is mistaken for the entire body of another person”
On Running
You see, I run. I’ve tried to explain the following verbally countless times, but my logic for running just seems non-existent. The thing about running (at least in the summer) is its absolutely dreadful and total misery three-fourths of the time. Immediately before I run, I’m in horrifying shape. Worried sick over how I don’t want to go, and hate it. My worst fears come to fruition within the warm-up before the run, and only grow worse. Fears of pain, of heat, of discomfort. Even afterward, despair ensues. But after a good sleep, some refrigerator raiding, and all around not feeling awful, yesterdays run seems like it was fun. I look back fondly upon it. As if it was a fun thing to do. Which its not, unless it’s in hindsight. Only even after the fun in hindsight is noticed does it appear fun in the far future. As the time approaches, however, second thoughts appear, and so the cycle repeats. I swallow my unwillingness to go out for my run, and go because I decided it would be fun earlier that day. That is what I call my runner’s logic. “It seemed seems like a grand idea this morning… terrible idea now…”
