and she huffed and puffed

And no, the house didn't blow down. It is a truth (not necessarily universally acknowledged, but one that is known to most of my acquaintances nonetheless, a fact that may make it universally acknowledged as my group of acquaintances create my own personal universe, thus making the fact universally acknowledged within my world) that I am a wuss. And not just when blood and guts and gore are involved (although that is a true statement). When it comes to all things exercise, I am also a wuss. And a whiner and a complainer and a grumbler and a bellyacher and any other sort of word that involves general grumpiness and the -er ending (which I suppose means I am a grumper as well, although that isn't really a word, so I guess you could just call me a grumpy gills). Basically, I am an unpleasant person to be around whenever exercise is involved. 

Not that I am against exercising. I love finishing workouts. It's like taking off your ski boots after a day on the slopes. There is relief and satisfaction in escaping from ones bootstraps. But starting and enduring workouts? The only way that is going to happen on a consistent basis is if I had my own personal Shakespeare who could write "Exit, pursued by a bear" every time I feel like I should workout (which is often when you are a law student who generally wants to avoid working on school things but also generally wants to avoid working out. It's a tough line to straddle).

Of course, I wasn't chased by a bear this weekend. Instead, David thought it would be a good idea to go running and I decided to go with him. It was one of those rare moments when running sounded pleasant.

It wasn't. After __ mile(s) (I'll let you fill in the blank with whatever number suits your fancy), I was done. So we walked __ mile(s) home, all while David listened to me whine and complain and grumble and bellyache and grump (based on enduring that __ mile-long walk, David has already achieved sainthood. You can see his halo if the lighting is just right). 

When we finally made it through our front door, I collapsed on the couch. Later, I pulled up a map of where we went and calculated the distance (or rather, Google Maps calculated the distance for me. I'm not that cool). We ran __ mile(s), which is the longest I'd run without stopping in a really long time. Upon discovering this neat, new factoid about myself, I did a happy jig and proclaimed to David that I felt awesome. David, in all his patience, rolled his eyes. When I mentioned I wanted to go running again, he laughed (saints do that sometimes).

No matter. One of these days I'll be a pleasant person to exercise with. Until then, I'll wait around for my personal Shakespeare to show up so I can pretend I am poor Antigonus from A Winter's Tale (he's the bloke that becomes an ursa major's lunch). But because that's never going to happen, I'm going to be on my best behavior so David will want to go running with me again.