Today, I ran three miles.
No, it wasn't toward a hot dog stand, or away from a zombie. I'll be honest: I joined a gym. It's an even worse sign of the apocalypse than if I had been chased down by a gang flesh-eating zombie pirates.
There were many factors leading to this investment, the main one being my stubborn ass friend. She has always been on the larger side due to genetics and a fondness for lounging around, but after developing a significant crush, she wants to lose weight. As any lazy person knows, it is difficult to find the motivation necessary for exercising without a partner there to annoy you. Apparently, that's where I come into the equation.
We decided that "early" morning (for us, 9am is like the break of dawn) would be the best time to work out, if it had to happen at all. Hayli was about twenty minutes late this morning, so I got on the treadmill without her. Typical. By the time she arrived, I had already run a mile, which equaled me desperately wishing someone would just take me out of my misery. Another mile later, I was ready to crawl out to my car, wheezing as I went. Unfortunately, Hayli wasn't quite ready yet, and convinced me to run yet another mile.
Kill me now.
This wouldn't be so bad, except the exact same thing is going to happen tomorrow... and the day after that. And the day after that. For the rest of my life.
Am I being dramatic? Sure, of course I am. That's my innate nature. The point is, I don't enjoy exercise. Some people may find it therapeutic, but I am certainly not one of them. Complaints aside though, I really do think this is a positive development in my life. And it can only go uphill from here, right?