If you are unfamiliar with what a bundt cake is, here is a picture:
I have always been shaped like a bundt cake, but my proportions increased as I had babies. My metabolism is as rapid as sedimentary rock, meaning, the continents shift faster than my fat does.
Don't get me wrong---I've got a lovely body. All of it's movable parts, well, move. It's chronically healthy, and in spite of my bundt cake backside, all of it's important numbers are in fighting shape because I've always enjoyed walking.
Then, quite by accident, I started running.*
*Running is a loose term for what I do. It's more like jogging or walking fast, except with less speed--so that's what? Wogging?
One morning about three weeks ago I forgot to drop off something at the school where I teach art. Another volunteer had a class in fifteen minutes and all the materials were in the back of my car. I was about mile from home. So I ran (wogged) home to get the materials there on time.
I felt great, but also like I was going to die. Because how could I not? My life long philosophy is to never run unless someone is chasing me, and to be honest, because I'm shaped like a bundt cake I can just go "limp noodle" and no one (besides Superman) could move my dead weight anyway. A kidnapper would rupture a disc trying to load me into his big windowless white abductor van.
And what kind of criminal wants a mouthy Greek as a hostage anyway?
Take that, Snatcher-Man.
Aaaaaannnnnyway, I haven't needed to run from Zombies since high school P.E.--(think about it, P.E. teachers=Zombies), and my patent-pending "limp noodle" technique has worked so well all this time to save me from kidnappers, so I've just been strolling along.
Until I ran home.
With the wind in my greys, I found freedom. Freedom from zombies, freedom from kidnappers, and freedom to enjoy the out right mocking and laughter of others as I "run" by.
Here is what I think I look like as I run:
Here is what I really look like:
|Wheeeeeeee! I'm runningggggggg!!!|
No, really. That's me.
It would be Janet Jackson' half time Super Bowl fiasco all over again.
But to all of you whom I run past every day: I'm sorry, and you're welcome.
I'm sorry because you have to see my bundt cake derriere jiggle past you like a bowl full of jelly that you don't eat and that's why your butt is so small and non-jiggly.
"You're welcome," because seeing my wobbly bits jiggling instantly makes you feel better about your jiggly bits and hey, who doesn't want to feel good about their jiggly bits?
You may be asking yourself, why don't you just run in a gym and then you wouldn't be on the streets for all to behold?
Um, yeah, no thanks.
Gyms are the places where real zombies lurk trying to suck out your brains. Think about it: what a better place than to gather up all those who can't run fast into one place and distract them with mirrors and steam so they can't get away when the attack begins.
I think I'll take my chances on the pavement.
Oh, by the way, I'm running my first 5k on Saturday morning. My goal is to finish by nightfall.
How do you feel about running?