I’ve started running … well, walking and jogging … in the mornings. I do not enjoy it. I prefer to Zumba my way to fitness. But, because of budget concerns, I had to cancel my Y membership. So no more fun classes until further notice. 

Lack of exercise was not only making me feel disgusting, but I literally woke up one morning and found that cellulite was beginning to creep around to the front of my thighs. Clearly this is unacceptable. So, I decided to train for a 5k.

I ran a 5k once. Two years and some months ago, in the heat of June. Although it was exhilarating to reach a physical goal that I set for myself, I hated every minute of it. It didn’t help that I trained with two of my friends who were both skinnier and much faster than me. I had to angle my body between them for this picture so my ass wouldn’t knock them entirely out of the photo.

Anna, me, and Courtney. Fast bitches.

This time, I have a friend motivating me who is — are you ready? — training to run a marathon. Her name is Kelli and I don’t think she realized the task she was taking on when she volunteered to be my cheerleader. I now text her incessant, grumpy-sounding messages. 

It seems like I know way too many people who are able to run 13+ miles. All of them are freaks. I never want to run that far. Ever. It sounds absolutely excruciating. And for someone like me who runs a 12-minute mile, it would be entirely too time-consuming.

Not being naturally thin makes me grouchy. If I could, I would text my genes every morning during my warm-up and say, “I AM NOT PLEASED THAT I HAVE TO DO THIS.” But instead, I text Kelli.