My Public Apology to Jogging

Dear Jogging,

I try to like you. I know you are a great form of exercise, that you would get my heart pumping and my blood flowing and all that. I know I could get just as much if not more work-out out of my work-out in substantially less time if I employed you instead of your more plebeian sibling, walking.

But I just don't like you. I don't like the way my thighs jiggle when I jog. Believe me, I understand that if I jogged more my thighs and belly and countless other jiggly spots on my body would firm up and solve this problem. But, I just can't seem to get past it long enough for that to happen.

And, maybe it's a lack of appropriately athletically supportive foundation garments, but I absolutely loathe the more than a little painful jouncy feeling you elicit in my chest. I mean, I'm no Dolly Parton, but yeesh -- give a girl a break. I shouldn't have to wrap myself in Ace bandages to comfortably perform an activity.

Don't get me wrong, I try to like you; I really do. I envision myself crossing the finish line of a marathon, exhausted but exhilarated after 26.2 miles of slow but steady jogging. I picture myself in the ranks of fellow joggers, passing on the shoulders of neighborhood roads, nodding slightly out of breath, but my aren't we getting in shape? greetings to one another. Visualization doesn't seem to work in this case, though. I just can't shake disliking you.

I walk as fast as I possibly can without breaking into a jog. I start to employ that exaggerated sport-walking gait, a la Cary Grant in Walk, Don't Run, but like a good sulky racer, I refuse to break stride.

So, sorry, jogging. I know you're a good form of exercise and I know you have many adherents, but I'll never, ever be one of them. Don't hold it against me, all right?


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