It was a beautiful Saturday morning in Norman today. 60 degrees in February is unheard of. That’s the stuff legends are made of, when I’m older and more gray, I’ll tell my kids the story of this day, and they’ll be all, “So an average February day? Is this another one of those tall tales you tell us about the cold white powder that used to fall from the sky?” Damn, those sons and daughters of global warming are going to be so lucky. I mean, I know I should be upset that we’re destroying the environment and everything, but damn if it doesn’t feel good to be able to expose my skin to the air without risking frostbite in February.

In fact, you know what? I may just take advantage of this gorgeous day and go on a little run. A jog, if you will. I know the last time I tried this was three months ago, and I genuinely thought I was going to have a heart attack, but not this time. I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure doing nothing but eating various potato and bread-based foods all winter has put me in even better shape. I’m sure I read an article that said Michael Phelps ate 5,000 calories a day to train for the Olympics. Okay, I skimmed it. Fine, I skimmed the headline and didn’t click the link, but whatever. I’m still in the prime of my life, baby, it’s time to strap on my running shoes and hit the streets.

Apparently, my iPhone has decided to crap out today but what else is new. I’m out here, just leaking motivation, and it can’t get enough service to play Spotify? Come on, you piece of crap. Steve Jobs’s ghost, can you please tell Apple to stop making crappy products?! I’m dripped in Nike gear right now and I look like an idiot just walking down the street while people jog around me. Okay, guy-who-sprinted-past-me, why don’t you chill out? Everyone knows warming up is essential to getting a good workout in; I’m not going to feel bad about walking for a few blocks. It’s not like you’re training for a freaking marath– crap, is that a Boston marathon shirt? That’s actually really impressive, I’m pretty sure you have to qualify for that. Whatever, all that says is that this guy has run at least 200% more marathon than I have.

And we have liftoff! Thank you, Spotify for taking your head out and hitting me with that much needed motivation. I’m warmed up, it’s time to jump straight into a full run. I feel amazing. The wind in my hair, the sun on my skin; this must be the runner’s high everyone talks about. I’ve forgotten how beautiful campus is when it’s freezing cold. I was worried I would struggle at this, but now I’m sure I can do this all day. My oxygen intake levels are spectacular right now – props to my lungs for crushing it. I can just feel my worries slipping away as I work up a nice sweat. Like that poster my ex used to have in college, “inhale the good stuff, exhale the bad.” Wait, was that poster about stress relief, not working out? Well crap, it’s taken me five years to come to that realization. Clearly, my brain is working at max capacity right now. My body is a well-oiled machine.

Whoa, almost rolled my ankle on that curb. That would have been a problem, although I am realizing that I expended a lot of energy awkwardly avoiding that injury. I mean, I’m not, like, tired tired, but I am a little tired. Never mind I’m a lot tired. Is this the “hitting the wall” that runners talk about? I told myself I would run for a half hour, so let’s just check and see how long this mix has been playing… six minutes!? That can’t be right, my body is falling apart in less time than it takes to watch the Game Of Thrones intro. What happened to that great feeling? I’m covered in sweat, my knees are aching, and my willpower just took a nosedive. I got to power through, think about something motivating…maybe looking better?

Screw it, I don’t even care about that at this point. People made the choice to hang out with me, although I have no idea why. Speaking of, how do they do this all the time? They’ve all been training for some marathon or other for pretty much the entirety of the time we’ve been hanging out, and I’m legitimately scared for my health as I round out mile one of this run. My lungs feel like that time I accidentally passed out in front of a campfire as it blew smoke and ash in my face, and somehow my torso hurts. Is this how people get abs? I’ll stick to sit ups.

Oh come on, I just realized I’m going to have to run back since I didn’t take my wallet. To heck with that, I’ll order an Uber from my phone. If I order some Chinese food through UberEats, will the driver let me ride back to my car with him? Maybe if I add it in the “food notes,” or – no! Dammit, I can’t go for a run and come back with fatty food. Not while my running partner is here; I know she’ll just laugh at me as she eats her carb-free meal. I’ll just run a slower pace on the way to my car.

This “slower pace” has progressed to something that looks like I’m pretending to run in slow motion, like a child. I look like I’m doing an interpretive dance for the word “snail.” I’m pretty sure I’m actively getting further away from my car since I’m jogging slower than the tectonic plate beneath me is moving me backward. Wow, that fourth-grade science lesson really stuck with me. I feel like everyone’s staring at how slow I’m running. I’ll just distract them by showing how much fun running is.

That was a terrible life choice. There is no liquid left in my body, so my attempt at a smile just turned into me baring my teeth like a crazy wolf-person. I’m pretty sure I sprayed a mother and two small children with sweat in my attempt at a wave and they’re currently reporting me to the authorities as some kind of pervert. Wait, this is the block I parked on. I’ve come far enough. I’m walking from here. I feel like I’m dying. My eyeballs hurt. How? Why? My entire body is shutting down. I’m going to take a sit-down shower when I get in.

Let me just check how far that was so I can brag about in on social- 2.1 miles? Are you kidding me! I’m sticking to the weight room and sprints.