she looked terrified.
i felt my leg, and it was thick and hard, like the throat of a snake swallowing a rat.
i limped around trying to remember what causes such pain: lack of calcium? lack of water? elliptical machines? taking my shoes off without untying the laces? previous crimes perpetrated against humanity? laughing at the misfortune of others? not running for three weeks? luck?
mother-effer that hurts.
today at the y, this grunt jumped off his treadie and did a neanderthal walk 20 feet to the disinfectant station. that bowlegged, practiced boy walk done by a guy who greets you with an inverted nod.
for the 9,000th time in my life, i thought: i'm glad i'm not dating one of those. i considered making a vimeo reenacting it as a cautionary tale to other men who are selecting the walk that will carry them well into their 30s.
i'm absolute horseshit at life balancing. i cannot run, read, write, and make delicious foods in the same day. i can run, read and make foods. i can read, write and make foods. it is the running and writing that refuse to coexist.
in other news, hot damn i love rainy weeks.