The Anatomy of a Run

(A work of realistic fiction)

Sitting on the couch on a Saturday morning an infomercial for P90X comes on the TV...

You put down the Cheetos. Hmm, the sun is out. Maybe you should go for a run.

Weather.com app says it 37 degrees. You put on your one pair of running pants and a hoodie. You look like Rocky. You feel like Rocky. You’re going to own this run. You’re going like five miles.

You step out the front door onto the porch. You cue up the workout playlist and do approximately 10 seconds of stretching.

Strides 1,2,3...

Oh man you’re not Rocky, you’re muscles are tight and your joints crack. You’re already tired. Shit, maybe you’ll only go like 2 miles. You’re a realist after all. You begin to think that maybe you don’t even look like Rocky.

You hear birds chirping and turn onto a beautiful riverside road. It is nice to just be outside, you feel like you should do this more often. It definitely beats running on a treadmill.

Strides 500,501,502...

Hell yeah, you are the man. You haven’t run in like two weeks and you’re crushing this run. You must be a super-human athlete. You could have been an olympian. You hurdle a few park benches, do some pullups on a tree branch.

You skip four songs until “Gonna Fly Now” comes on. You run hard through that one and then even harder when R. Kelly’s “World’s Greatest” follows.

Strides 2021,2022,2023...

Suddenly, bam. Uh oh, you might puke. Your hammie is so tight all of a sudden. The U2 song that you hate and keep forgetting to take off the workout playlist comes on as if to taunt you. Your pace slows considerably. Breathing becomes labored.

Oh shit, you’re like two miles from home and running out of steam. Better turn around here. Why are these shoes so heavy? You must keep going.  

Suddenly people are passing you on the left. You hate them all. You curse the inventor of Cheetos and that damn cheetah in their ads.

Why are you so lazy? Your heel begins to shoot bolts of pain up through your spine. You think about all the people you know who seemingly never work out and stay in great shape.

The cramp in your side screams along with the Katy Perry song that only you know you bought from iTunes. You reach a crosswalk and decide that walking would probably be beneficial. You then shame yourself into sprinting up the next hill. You cannot go on. You stop and walk again.

(Slower) Strides 3589,3590,3591...

Oh man, why did you go to that buffet last night? You’re so fat and slow. You couldn’t even get through 3 miles. How could you have let yourself get to this point? You make a resolution to get jacked for the summer.

Your building finally appears in the distance. You open the door to your apartment. You try to talk yourself into doing push ups or crunches or something. Instead, you vow to hit the gym tomorrow.  

You fill a big glass with cold water. You glance over at the table and see the bag of Cheetos sitting where you left them. You decide you must finish the bag while your metabolism is spiked. Can’t have that temptation in the house if you’re going to get jacked. Is it too early for a beer?