Tuesday, October 13, 2015
I am doing this new thing called running. The action or movement of a runner.
Dawn of humanity, big brains, bodies built for long distance, evidence found in skeletal remains, good for our cardiovascular vasculature -- blah blah blah. I want to run because I want to get high.
What good suburban mother doesn't occasionally want to shake it off?
I semi-started already. I bought leggings. I don't look cool in them, but that's not the point is it? The point it to get high. On my own cannabinoids.
The journey of a great lush high begins with that first step out my door, according to science.
Looking left and right for any neighbors who might witness me and shudder to see a middle-aged mom in leggings "running," the action or movement of a runner, something I haven't done willingly since I was ten because of the uncomfortable jiggling and gravitational pulling, plus, you know, the exercise of it. And I have to be back in time for bus pick-up.
But there's nothing like desperation for motivation.