An Ode Full of Hatred and Love

Since it's been over a year since I started writing this blog, let's do a quick recap of things that should be obvious to anyone who has ever looked at it for even the flashiest of flashes.

1. My name is Carly.

2. I think writing is okay.

3. I live in My Big Fat Greek Wedding.

4. I go through phases.

5. I sort of like college.

6. I hate running.

Oh, what is that you say? I've never covered my intense loathing for aerobic activity? Well, well, well...we have a lot of catching up to do.

It's not that I hate working out. I mean, I can be honest enough with myself to say that I don't love working out, but generally once I'm at the gym, I'm okay [except for that one time Shelby and I went for a grand total of 12 minutes...but that's another story altogether...]. I love the burn in my arms and legs and abs when I'm actually working hard. I love being sore and knowing that it's for a reason. I love walking on the track for an embarrassingly long time, daydreaming about different things every day. But I don't love "working out." And I especially don't love running.

Let's just ignore the fact that I'm quite possibly the slowest runner in the world for a moment [but seriously -- I'm pretty sure geriatric grannies pass me with their walkers]. I could get past the ridiculously red face, the icky panting, and that feeling like my throat is about to close up if I could just hit that point that everyone talks about, that elusive Runner's High. Where is that?? Where is my Runner's High?! Plus, all of my friends who are runners always nod their head knowingly and claim that it is an addictive activity, to which all I can say is: YEAH RIGHT. I feel like I'm being lied to constantly.

And okay, maybe I need to run more than three days in a row to get the feel for what they are saying, but it is just so horrible! I push myself hard, but the only thing that has been getting me through it is the idea of this blog post lamenting my situation, and now that this is done...what's next? My music choices are already ridiculous enough... I think I need something different. While most people listen to hard core rap with a beat to keep them going, I vascillate between P!nk, Britney, and other random stuff. Seriously, the other day it was a mix of Gloria Estefan and Queen; I felt like I was the main clip in an 80's movie montage. In my head, I was running on the track, then suddenly I was in a powder pink bathroom, ruining the ozone layer with my intense amounts of hairspray and rimming my eyes in some electric blue liner. Then the scene would cut to me and my friends going through stacks and stacks of vinyl at the album store, with a close up on our fingerless-gloved hands flipping through titles. THEN we'd suddenly be at some killer party, where James Spader and Andrew McCarthy would fight over me. The montage would end with me stepping off the track and straightening my leg warmers, Flashdance style.

Look at the lengths I go to in order to distract myself from the task at hand. I DESIGNED MY OWN 80'S MOVIE MONTAGE. Running is just not working for me.

In all honesty, I never would have made it through the era of high cut bathing suits and Buns of Steel; it would have forced me to be a very different person, a timid and insecure person. As ridiculous as it may seem, I'm incredibly grateful to live in time where curves are more socially acceptable again and where a woman can look like a woman. I don't want to go so far as to say I owe my sense of confidence and self-appreciation to J.Lo or Kim Kardashian, but they've helped, you know? Besides, I think that women like them are more beautiful than skeletal stick figures any day. Feminity and womanly figures should be celebrated, not starved off and ran to the bone.

Maybe I'm just saying that because I really, really hate running. Because I do -- I just detest it. And it can't help that I'm the most impatient person in the world when it comes to exercise results... I do 20 crunches and then feel my abs. On one hand, it's easier to "appreciate" the more natural state of one's body. But on the other hand, I think it's an active decision to love your shape, especially when there is still a lot of pressure coming from different directions to look a certain way. Sir Mix-A-Lot and Beyonce have helped, but even they can't fix everything.

So with that, I'll make my verdict: I still hate running. But that's okay, because I love my body the way it is. And even if, against all odds, I somehow fall into a running phase where I experience the addiction firsthand, it's still okay -- I could run 500 miles a week and still have this Crookston booty. Either way, I'm looking all right.