|Smells like R.Kelly's sheets ... but it was 99 cents!|
Where was I? Oh, yes. At my gym, kicking out the late '80's jamz.
(I do a really mean impression of Billy Joel's falsetto part in River of Dreams*. Not that it's good; it's literally mean/mean-spirited. It sounds best while I'm in the shower and has caused Brian to rush into the bathroom asking, "Are you okay? Do you need medical intervention?" and me to reply, "Dude, I'm performing here.")
(*The reason I am so familiar with Billy Joel's "River of Dreams" is because we sang it in my high school choir. Also? My high school choir was nothing like Glee; I didn't even know being in choir was something most people were embarrassed about until I got to college and majored in ... choir. Well, I majored in music but was required to be in a choir that met everyday for all four years I was on campus, so yeah, I majored in choir. In my high school the choir director knew about marketing so she made a lot of the popular kids into choir stars (genius) which made the teenage masses also want to be choir stars. So our choral program was pretty big. And not nerdy. I'm pretty sure.)(I realize this description does nothing to help my case that our choir wasn't for lew-sers.)
(Also not loser-y? I went to music camp the summer before my junior year. I spent two weeks at Interlochen Center for the Arts wearing the required navy blue shorts, powder blue polo shirt, and yellow socks.)(I lost seven pounds while I was there because I was scared to poop so I didn't eat.)(The bathroom in our cabin had two toilets in the same
Ok, that was probably the greatest tangent in Sublurban Mama history. Back to the gym.
I was on the treadmill trying to run five miserable miles while listening to sweet young Paula describe her relationship with MC Skat Kat. I was suffering. And not just because of the music
I hobbled through four miles. I incorporated three walk breaks. It took about 45 minutes to conquer those miles. I will not be setting a PR at this race.
So, Imma do this 10k even though I don't feel ready
In closing, to celebrate the most disjointed post I've ever written, I've decided to get imaginary paid for every parenthesis I use. I'm an imaginary millionaire from this post alone.