Y’all. I’ve been running to try to get back in shape. Like ship shape.

Like where I was when I-still-wanted-to-lose-10-pounds shape and I thought I was fat; except now I’m like 20 pounds heavier than that so I def wasn’t fat then but I’m maybe fat now... 

I can’t think of a time in my life when I didn’t want to lose “just 10 more pounds.” It’s the dysmorphia. I know. Shut up. 

Anyway, So I’m running in the park because it’s free— and I’m frugal along with fit — and I’m coming up on mile 4 when I hear the foot steps of the runner behind me. And I push harder because in my mind we’re racing. But like I’m slow. I feel like Kevin Hart in the new Jumanji when he’s all “why am I running so slow?!” I’m running literally as fast as I can when this runner passes me on my left. And I look over because I want to see this paragon of fitness. I swear it is the oldest man I have ever seen- in short shorts and a tank and sandals! Running Sandals? I don’t even know how to describe them. It looked like a pair of sandals a girl wears in the summer that buckle around the ankle. There was hardly any sole and zero arch support. I honestly don’t even know how he was running in them. 

So now he’s past me and I’m like “come on” pushing myself and he just keeps running and he gets further and further ahead of me. I tried so hard but I lost that race by so many minutes it’s not even funny. 

Then another runner (and her dog!) passed me and my dog!!! Both human and dog were so skinny and running so fast and Oreo and I are heaving and panting and barely making it. Not a good look. In fact, her dog stopped to poop; we caught up and then they passed us again! I mean come on!! 

So long story short, I’ve never felt so fat and slow as the time when the old man ran a much faster imaginary race than I did. And that other girl came in second.