That's the name of my iPod jogging playlist. Every time I sit on my couch and open iTunes, that title stares back at me. I choose a song, and then minimize the screen so I don't have to look at that little nagging title anymore. I'm not even fat, I'm what I'd call "soft." I've always been small, but there isn't an ounce of fitness in me anymore.
The Fabo often tries to entice me into running things with her. "It'll be fun," she says. "You'll get free beer afterwards!" "You can even get a t-shirt!"
But she can't fool me. Running is like death warmed up, and actually paying to run in a public place is just outrageous. You may recall last year when she tried to sucker me into running a half marathon with her. I grudgingly agreed, and ran a few times to try to shape up. And then the Fabo hurt her foot, and couldn't run the race. I was devastated. Or not. Mostly because it was really cold outside, and I am lazy. So that race didn't happen, and I was okay with that.
And so it goes.
And then this morning the Fabo says to me, "Look! A five-miler! And look at that sweeeeet shirt you get with it!"
Maybe because I've been up all night with insomnia, or maybe because I'm feeling guilty for not seeing Fabo more often...I said yes.
Sigh. So I'm running a five miler in the middle of December. What, oh what, have I gotten myself into? Unless of course, she manages to have a Naked Hugh Jackman placed at the end of it for me like I have requested...in which case, I will gladly run all day just to get a piece!