In college I made a mental rule for myself – once I put a sports bra on, a workout or run must take place before I can remove the sports bra.
It’s worked pretty well for me, forcing me into workouts when unmotivated, or perhaps I would have otherwise “opted out.”
Tuesday, I found myself climbing back on the running wagon after recently falling off. (I fall off that doggone wagon so often, you’d think they’d put a recall out for it.) Apparently it had been so long since I’d even put on a sports bra that I had forgotten how to get into it.
I found myself flaying about my room like a drunk octopus, sticking my head into holes that didn’t fit it, trying to find my arms and in general very confused about where everything was going to fit once the arms/head were free. It turns out, it was on backwards.
FYI, the back side of the sports bra does not cover much.
Lest this blog turn into the bra blog, I digress on this matter. But not the run I was suiting up for.
I have another pre-running ritual.
Because nothing will ruin a run faster than having to carry with you a swinging bag of your dog’s poo.
That’s what home is for.
But this day, I didn’t monitor her goings outside, so I found myself having one of those really awkward moments.
My dog was doing her #2 and I didn’t have a bag.
I HATE that.
Gertie, no! Fumble. Party Foul. Running Fail.
So we did the only thing I could do in that moment.
Ran away. Faster.
And now I have blogged about bras and dog poo today. Do not fear. This blog is not going to turn into Dooce. (I mean, the book deal and popularity would be nice, but it’s not really my shtick.)
What I really wanted to share was, I ran. Despite a few fumbles. No more excuses for not running. At least not this week…. I’m hanging onto that stupid wagon for dear life.