i've just got back from a run. did i mention that i hate running? i fucking hate running. i hate that my right knee gets sore and my shins hurt and i get stitch and then worry i'm not breathing properly and then stop breathing properly and that my nose runs. i look like crap and i feel like crap but i will still force myself to run 3 times a week for the next 13 weeks and i have no idea why. in fact usually 20 minutes into each run i have a little conversation with myself that goes something like "why the fuck are you doing this to yourself. it hurts and you could be at home laying on the couch watching buffy reruns" "shut the fuck up you lazy fucking bitch and just keep running". (note the abundant use of the word fuck. not only is it my favourite word but it has great qualities for use when either whining or trying to motivate oneself.) i'm not a natural runner, i'm not even naturally or otherwise a fit person. i recently heard somewhere that if you were fit and healthy at 18 you would remain that way on a basic level for the rest of your life. if only i had known about that 14 years ago...although i doubt it would have made much difference. maybe thats why i force myself to run now because i have more than a decade of being fit and healthy to make up for and i owe it to myself and my body. oh and i hate giving up and giving in.
1:09 p.m. - January 24, 2003
i couldn't decide whether to start this entry with "so there's this guy" or "never apologise never explain" so i figured i would leave the confession until later and go with a quick story about my feet.
last night, at around 2am, when i was walking home from the club (for the very last time...sniff sniff) my feet were so sore from about 3 hours of non-stop dancing that had it not been cold and wet in the yaletown streets i would probably have whipped off my boots and travelled barefoot. this got me thinking about the time the coolest guy and i were in rome and how, on the last morning, i woke up in bed and found that the soles of my feet were totally black. i was also scarily hungover. the coolest guy explained to me that at some ungodly hour i had insisted on walking all the way from downtown rome, to our apartment in the central suburbs, without my shoes. barefoot in rome. sounds almost romantic. except for the bit about me having the worst hangover i have EVER experienced. i was so hungover that once at the airport i threw up every 15 minutes without fail which, although bad enough on its own, was made even more unpleasant by the fact that our 2 hour flight was delayed by about 4 hours!! i actually started to think that maybe i had alcohol poisoning!! i had a good time that night though. after dinner we found this great little bar, which played cool music, where we turned moderately drunk into hideously drunk, and i remember talking to the guys at the table next to us who were playing trivial pursuit(s) (obviously in italian) and one of them gave me a flower.
i'm a lousy tourist. rome is an amazing city with fantastic architecture, beautiful streets and fascinating ruins and my biggest memory is waking up on my last morning with black feet.
9:00 a.m. - January 24, 2003
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