Ow
I can't believe how sore I am this morning.

It was a beautiful day yesterday, so I decided to try and get some of that exercise stuff I've been talking about in. I can't really afford gym membership, so I just put on a t-shirt and some shorts, headed out to the river, and started running.

(Well, okay, I set the VCR to tape the ballgame first. Didn't want to waste the nice day, but didn't want to miss that, either)

I never was big on running. It always seemed to be something to do mainly when you're late, and isn't it better just to be on time? Besides, I don't mind walking to get from place to place, but just running in a big circle doesn't seem like a very productive use of one's time. So, I figured I'd run to the Cambridgeside Galleria, buy a Walkman or something, and listen to it while I ran back, just to give myself a goal.

Anyway, I got myself across the bridge to the Cambridge side of the river (it just feels a little safer than running along Storrow Drive). There were a bunch of other joggers already out, and I noticed a lot of the women had the sleeves of their t-shirts rolled up. I'm not sure what that's supposed to do, but I did it anyway, since the urge to not look like a dork transcends sex.

Soon enough, though, I found reason to resent these huge hooters Michelle saddled me with. Well, I guess, they're not huge, just larger than average, but even with a bra on these suckers bounce when I run. At first it's no big deal, and I sort of enjoyed having people stare at me. I've got no particular reason to be proud or boastful about this body, I know - Michelle's parents contributed good DNA and she kept it in shape before dropping me in it; I've basically contributed nothing aside from occasionally walking to someplace less than a mile away - but, hey, I was an only child and like being the center of attention. Yeah, that's it.

But after half a mile or so, they started to ache. They weren't the only parts feeling the burn - even if Michelle had had a regular fitness regimin, I haven't been doing much to keep to it for the last month and a half - but they were the most insistent. Each step seemed to be trying to yank them off, and that hurts. I also only had one bottle of water stowed in the fanny pack I found in Michelle's bottom drawer, so I swear that last mile to the mall must have taken over half an hour.

Once there, I made myself promise not to even look in Best Buy or Circuit City, but headed straight for the sports bras. It was tough finding a couple in my size - either busty women just don't work out much, or they were work out a lot and the stores were sold out. I think the saleslady took unfair advantage of the blood that had left my brain, since she also managed to sell me a couple headbands and some running shorts, as well as (I'm looking at the receipt now) two $2.50 bottles of water.

I window-shopped a little, especially in Suncoast, where I wished my DVD player wasn't on the other side of the country, and then figured I might as well head back. I did pop into the ladies' room to change my underwear, though. I suppose I could have been a wuss and just hopped on the T, but I figured if I ran home as well, I could stop at Herrell's for some ice cream without the day having completely been a zero-sum game.

The new running shorts were weird, barely covering my butt, but looking down, they made my legs look powerful, even if they didn't necessarily feel that way. After about a mile I pulled off my tee-shirt and stuffed it in the bag with the new stuff. It felt kind of weird to just be running down the street in a bra, even if it didn't actually bare any actual cleavage. I've gotten so used to having two layers of clothing there that I felt a little exposed, although I imagine not as much as a born woman would. The lack of jiggle was very nice, though.

I hit the wall just before the bridge back to my neighborhood in Allston, though, and just couldn't run any more. I sat down on the grass by the riverbank and watched the people rowing and sailing. Rowing's fun - I took a class a couple summers ago - and it actually becomes a good spectator sport when you've got enough boats on the river and are too tired to worry about how you're finding these shirtless college guys aesthetically pleasing...

I must have drifted off, because the next thing I remember it was starting to cool down and my bare midriff had turned a light pink. I winced as I got up, sore from not cooling down properly (I knew I should have paid more attention in P.E.), slightly sunburned, and all. I managed to get back to the apartment, but didn't go out for ice cream. Instead, I just rewound the tape and watched the Red Sox pound the living hell out of Roger Clemens.

I felt good enough, if exhausted, when I went to bed, but now it's like every ache regrouped and came back better than ever. I've got to say, if this whole body-switch deal plays out so that my body has gained fifty pounds with Michelle in it, I'm going to be very upset.

-Martin
- posted 11:47 AM - - (archive use only)