I have romantic images of myself as a runner, none of which include the chub-rub or stress incontinence that actually comes along with an overweight 30-something pounding it out for a mile or so.
In my fantasy, my svelt, muscular legs glide past one another as I effortlessly complete a 3 mile run.
In reality my ass cheeks continue to shake like Jello for several seconds after my foot has hit the ground, I am panting like an asthmatic hooker, the friction between my thighs could solve the climate crisis and I've probably peed in my pants just a little bit. Not to mention that flatus beomes an issue, to the point where I almost feel guilty for the other runners in my immediate environment.
All this after only 1 mile.
Maybe one day I'll become the runner I imagine myself to be, but for now I'm happy being the tundo on the track.