So, yeah, I’ve been working out. And by working out, I mean skipping. True story.
I’m not naturally a huge fitness freak, believe it or not. There’s my signature blend of laziness and procrastination, for one. And my incredible powers of justification, for another. (Like, why bother working out at all when there’s a small chance the baby weight will just melt off of its own accord when you wean in 18 short months?) I also know that what others call a “runner’s high” or “feeling good,” is actually the experience of your muscles seizing up, your heart pounding out a speed metal solo, your lungs being set on fire and the taste of blood in your mouth.