The Accidental Slut Run

Another Wednesday, another running day.

It’s been 2 weeks since I’ve gotten off my ass and started running again. I’m still not very good at it but I was actually looking forward to hitting the pavement this morning. Monday’s attempt at a run was awful. I had to run later in the day and by the time I was able to go, it was 97 degrees out and I forgot my hair tie. I turned around halfway. Mission aborted.

Today I was gonna rock it. Although It’s not easy to digest that I’m using my “me time” for something physical when I’d prefer to be watching crappy TV or reading a good book, it has to be done. I have to do something. Running it is.

Now I’m rocking a new playlist, a new pair of kicks and holding my head up high. The baby and I hit the main road outside my development with a nice breeze and the Florida sun shining in the sky as we go.

5 minutes in and I’m surprised at how good I feel… maybe my body has resigned itself to the fact that the brain is the boss here. You hear that old, tired, body? I run the show! Mind over fat! A lawn truck drives by and the occupants whistle and honk. Shit, I actually look good doing this? Me? I can’t even process that idea as Adam Levine croons in my headphones.

So this is what doing running right feels like? I make a mental note to text one of my crazy marathon friends when I get back home. She’s gonna be so proud of me. Hell, I’m so proud of me. Now I can almost feel the skip in my step. I’m not a runner, I’m a freaking supermodel. Take that, self-deprecating me!

It’s around the 11 minute mark of my 30 minute workout that the second catcall comes, this time from some old guys in a white van. What? I must look phenomenal today. Maybe it’s because of that full moon, maybe it’s because I’ve lost 5 pounds? Who knows? Who cares? Just enjoy this feeling knowing disgusting old men find you wanton. Actually, that’s a bit of a creepy thought but whatever, just keep running.

At the halfway mark I see the baby is asleep. Good baby, the perfect running buddy. I’m making a mental checklist of the things I’ll need for dinner and this time, a County garbage truck honks and waves. Okay, something is up. I look down… nope, no nipples showing, running skirt looks okay… hmmm, maybe the Rosie the Riveter look is back in. Eat that Betty Boop! I’m not usually the person who relies on the compliments of others but when you’re not afraid for your safety, a honk during a workout can feel pretty good for your self-esteem. Although… 3 honks in one day? That’s a bit over the top? I ignore that thought and continue on… almost done, 5 more minutes.

I’m almost home, basking in the glory of a really good run and some very enamored spectators when I hear another whistle… this time from a neighbor I know…

“Hey, good run?”

{taking off my headphones} Yeah, one of the best. {I’m smiling ear to ear}

“Yeah… Ummm…”

{He looks uncomfortable, why does he look so uncomfortable?}

“Your skirt is tucked into your shorts.”

That’s when I turn around to see the reason behind my popularity this morning.

My behind.

My cute little black running skirt has been tucked into the attached purple shorts for 30 minutes!

While I was running! In public! In my hometown! With my baby!

Am I surprised? Nope, not one bit.

Whatever. That was the best I felt while working out in a long while. Maybe I’ll invest in some of those little running shorts that the Olympians wear.

I’m sure to get some super honks then.

 

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