Losing Weight And Other Long Stories Part 2

It’s 6am and I am awake. And no, I’m not going to work or suffering from one of my anxiety induced over-waking (this is a word from my Catholic high school days. Don’t ask)  episodes. I’m going jogging. I sit up in bed pumped up and think about the uncomfortable and probably painful hour that is to follow and lie back down. Maybe I should ease myself into this keeping fit regiment. I’d hate to hurt myself. Don’t people get sports injuries from straining their bodies? I only got through ten (okay five) minutes of insanity and I probably need to actually get through a session before I start pushing myself to jog.

“Get up! It’s 6:05 already!” My sister pulls my duvet off. She’s already dressed , jogging shoes on. How does she do it? She’s been jogging for a month now and is so disciplined about it. “Or have you changed your mind?” Her tone is layered with sarcasm. I jump out of bed. “Of course not. I was just meditating.” There’s no way I’m going to let her think I’ve given up before I’ve even started.

I feel so weird in these clothes. I hope no one can see my cellulite through these tights. I’m wearing cotton tights and a barely there tee. My sister sighs at my obsession with how I look in my jogging attire. “You barely have cellulite and it won’t matter how you look coz you’re going to end up sweating like a pig. What you need is to be comfortable.” But I won’t feel comfortable if people look at me and think, “What is she wearing?”

Running is easy. I thought I would have a heart-attack but it’s been five minutes and I feel amazing. And it’s so cool how there’s this camaraderie with fellow joggers. Every jogger we’ve passed has given us a friendly nod. I feel like I’m part of this awesome club. Even more awesome is how complete strangers on their way to work are cheering us on. “Utaweza madam. Tia bidii.” I don’t know what my sister keeps complaining about. I could get used to this.

(Fresh) Air is rushing through my nose and into my lungs. I feel like a hot air balloon about to go to space coz I’m happy… Ow! I think I have a stitch. Ok, that really hurts.  My sister gives me the kind of look you give the intern at the office who claims to be adjusting great and wonders out loud why everyone is always looking stressed when work is so easy…

It’s been twenty minutes. My legs are on fire. I could sit down on the pavement right now and massage my thighs. And my boobs are aching. Honestly, why is this sports bra so uncomfortable. I’m so mad at Mama Bras right now. My sister has barely broken a sweat. “Okay, so we need to pick up pace.” Pick up pace? Are you kidding me right now? I’m thinking we should slow down. Before I can say anything, she takes off into a sprint. I curse under my breath then take off in a bid to keep up. I have a feeling I am going to cry tomorrow. Scratch that. I am going to cry now.

Running up Valley Road is hell. I can’t. Even cars struggle up this mountain, sembuse my poor body? My lungs are going to explode.  I am drenched in so much sweat that I look like I’ve been rained on. This is not what I signed up for. I. Will. Never. Do. This. Again.