As predicted... awkward email in my inbox this morning from the latest Disappearing Act. Man, do I know how to pick 'em and call 'em.
I hope you'll forgive my bad mood. It's 8:45 am as I type this and I've already been awake for three hours. "Why?" you ask, because you are a smart person and are very confused by the World Champion of Sleeping In, Hater of All Things Early, voluntarily waking up at such an ungodly hour.
Because I was running. At 6 am, I was running to beat the heat. This is the second day in a row I've done my early morning runs and I've not yet trained myself to go to bed corresponding early. So right now I'm operating on my second day of five hours' sleep. You'll forgive me if I'm Cranky McBitchface today.
You see, a while ago I got a bunch of pictures back from the first round of summer parties and weddings, and also recently spent a Sunday tubing on the Potomac with some of the most beautiful, skinny and brilliant people in Washington. Ergo, I am not feeling so great about my looks these days. I can't do much about my propensity for Paris Hilton wonk-eye in photos, but the extra layer of winter padding around my thighs? My Buddha belly, which is moving from kind of endearing to kind of "not making me able to wear my favorite jeans?" Yup, I can do something about that.
I let my gym membership lapse because I hate waiting for the treadmill with 18 year olds in full makeup and booty shorts and since then my workout routine has actually improved. In normal weather I run once or twice a week in the evenings, lift weights and do crunches while watching bad TV and, most importantly, don industrial strength Spanxx. However, the arrival of summer in the fetid swamp that is our nation's capital makes the first and the last of these things extremely difficult. I don't do well in heat. I mean, I really don't do well in heat. I break out in hives if I'm in the sun for more than an hour, my face gets bright red and stays that way long after I've moved indoors, and I glow in a most un-ladylike manner.
So I've started taking hip hop dance classes, which have helped my endurance a lot and are a lot more fun of a workout than jogging down 16th Street (sadly, they haven't helped my moves. Despite my teacher's best efforts, I remain a very, very Caucasian dancer). At ten bucks a lesson and all in the evenings, though, I need to find something else, and that something else has become early morning running.
This morning as I gasped uphill past Meridian Hill Park, an unpleasant thought entered my head. "You'd probably have to run less," something whispered "if you gave up your morning cake donut with your coffee. That thing has 12 grams of fat in it."
Of course, I chuckled to myself and picked up the pace. No way that is going to happen any time soon. After all, Cranky McBitchface needs her carbs.