I am short. That means I have short legs. Not long legs. Not a long graceful stride. No gazelle-esque canter here. Anyone seem Gimli in the 2nd Lord of the Rings movie – basically huffing and puffing and clunking around the whole time while his mucho more graceful companions run circles around him? That’s me when I run. And yet I am pegged to run a half marathon with my taller, mucho more gaceful girlfriends next month. How the heck did I get talked into it? It was probably mostly my flub talking to me. Whispering from my overly-ample-right-now hips… Cuhrazy!
So the training schedule on my fridge tells me I am supposed to run 6 miles today. Say what?!? That’s like 4 hours by my watch! This is why I am awake right now. At this ridiculously dark and cold hour. I am N-O-T a 5am riser – only if I’ve gone to bed at 6:30 the night before… But early early early runs are necessitated by having a babe (who rises much too early himself) and the desire not to feel like the giantest loaf in the world when I going running at a more respectable hour but don’t get a shower until 3pm. Here I go… coral lipstick and all…




















by Fleur Bliss
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