Enter Emily Posts. You guys know Emily, right? She's on Tumblr and is so sweet and nice and has these cute dogs and then...
she proposed that we all run a 5K in a few weeks. A bunch of people joined (you disgust me, you fitness types!) and Emily even told me about a 5K I could join here in LA.
(UGH LA! I hate you, what with your fit people and delicious burgers and HILLS!)
But I signed up. Even as it crashed my computer, which I took to believe is a sign from Steve
I paid the fee and I've been "running" ever sine.
Here's a breakdown of me "running".
Minute 1: "Oh, cool. I can do this. Yo, I can totally do this. BITCHES CAN'T STOP ME!"
Minute 5: "Why is...why...this hurts."
Minute 10: "LUPUS DON'T OWN ME. YOU WIN, KELLY! You are a hero! OMG WHERE IS THE EMERGENCY STOP BUTTON?"
Minute 15: (The hallucinations begin) "George Clooney is at the end of my treadmill. I can see Lake Como! And his arms are open, waiting for me!"
Minute 19: "One minute until I'm George's!"
Minute 19 and a half: "I may have a thing for old guys. File this for therapy later."
Minute 21: "George, I'm here!"
And then I collapse on the treadmill. If there's other fitness types in the gym, I skip the collapse. I immediately leave and lay down in the elevator that takes me up to my apartment.
8 more weeks, guys. Eight more until I run my first 5K and cure cancer.
They are both equally improbable.
Wish me luck.