My Lungs Want to Murder Me.

Today I ran. For 10 minutes. And I wanted to die.

It wasn’t actually that my legs couldn’t handle it. No, they were going along at a pace of 12:30 and then 12:45 and I didn’t actually want to slow down.

My lungs, however, reacted so vehemently to the movement that I felt as if I had smoked three packs of cigarettes while holding my breath under water. Tricky, right?

It didn’t feel good. And now I’m all bummed and disappointed because I am a bum. I’ll get back on it tomorrow. By now, everyone knows that running is not my favorite, but it has its benefits. Especially in the winter – because heat sucks.

I suppose the lesson here is not to go out too fast. (That’s always the lesson.)


I need to eat. And write. And not be discouraged. (Especially because training starts in a week.)

Have a good night, everyone.


8 Responses to “My Lungs Want to Murder Me.”

  1. Katie Renee

    That’s the exact reason why I don’t run. My body mutinies and I have to decide between living or continuing to run. I could build up my endurance, but that takes time and energy. And I’m lazy.

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