If you think this is going to be a cute post about baby giraffes, go ahead and leave the site, because you’re going to be highly disappointed. Hell, you might be disappointed after reading this. Anyways…. like I was saying, me and baby giraffes have one thing in common. We can go ahead and rule out the 5 foot drop from the V slide. We can also rule out long legs. What I’m talking about is the stagger they have for about five minutes after birth trying to figure out how to walk. That mental picture is what I look like when I am running. I’m not kidding. I think it’s because there’s so much going on. Posture. Arm motion. Am I picking my knees up too high? Am I not picking them up high enough? Why are my lungs burning? Why am I seeing spots? Am I about to pass out? Geez, if I pass out, will I hit my head on the concrete and die? Before you know it, I’m two houses down from my sidewalk and decide it’s too stressful and I turn around and happily walk home. The crazy thing is…. I want to run.
All you runners out there make it look so relaxing and enjoyable. Well, most of you. For those that are hunched over, red, sweating to death, the ones out there that make people who are driving past you slow down because we think you’re about to pass out and we’re going to run over you, you are the ones that scare the hell out of us that don’t run. You make us not even want to jog or take a brisk walk around the block. If you’re one of those runners, you might want to take up water aerobics. I think you might enjoy it more. I am one of those people. I literally look like I’m not only learning how to run for the first time in my life, but that I might die doing it. Case in point, we had a kickball game this week. Don’t ask me why we’re playing kickball. I could dedicate a post to that topic alone (I am well aware that I’m not five and in PE class). I literally kicked the ball maybe three times and I still can’t walk today (four days later). I also made kickball look like a National Geographic show; me in my giraffe style running around base to base trying not to get hit with a flying ball and trying not to die in front of everyone. After this week’s kickball fiasco and my baby giraffe ways, I have decided to be your cheerleader. No more running for me.
My sideline oath is that when I’m in Hillsboro Village, I will always put my fork down at the Pancake Pantry to give you a wave. When I’m in Sylvan Park, I’ll raise my glass of wine from my front porch to give you an air cheers and if I’m anywhere else, I’ll gladly smile appreciating your athleticism and my lack thereof. We both know I shouldn’t be running unless I’m being chased by a herd of safari animals, because I look like one.
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