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| Guess whaaaat... |
Fucking awesome, right?
This time, my lip decided to switch shit up. This time, instead of breaking out in my usual spot of the lower left corner of my lip, my central nervous system decided it had enough of that shit, and handed me the cold sore smack dab in the middle of my bottom lip.
I have two lovely, perfectly circular holes in the middle of my lip. It'll be interesting to see that shit heal.
What caused this outbreak? An infuriating exchange with my trainer yesterday afternoon. My body was QUICK to react... the cold sore popped up six hours after the enraging encounter with the guy.
Remember that story about my substitute teacher who made me cry because he wouldn't give me my homework, back in third grade? I know it's in here somewhere... the story with that goddamn motherfucker Mr. Lockitch (however the fuck it's spelled... probably some Scandinavian or German spelling a Mexican like me never gave a single fuck about learning. His name I may not know how to spell, but his face I'll never forget... fucking... Edward James Olmos' characterization of Jaime Escalante in "Stand and Deliver" looking-ass) and how he took joy in tormenting me by holding up the extra homework sheet above my head as I pleaded for him to give it to me... tormenting me long enough for me to miss my bus and all that good shit you'd love to do to a nine-year-old good-girl.
That was twenty fucking years ago... and yesterday, the story repeated itself, sort of.
It's well documented I HATE running. I'll sprint a couple of laps, just to get my HIIT in... but from that to making me run a mile after an hour of intense kickboxing is insane. It's NOT. GOING. TO. HAPPEN.
I was NOT built to run long distances... for fucking SHIT. I'm a fucking OX... I'm built to survive long, harsh winters... built to carry shit twice my weight... built to wrestle motherfucking bison... THAT'S the type of body I was given. I was not given the body of some fucking marathon runner... person who had to carry fucking surrendering orders to pussy-ass tribes... person adept to fleeing at the first sign of danger (can you tell my fucking disdain for this fucking activity, or should I continue?).
SO, when I'm ordered to run a mile, I will give my best contempt-filled glare, and walk out.
There's an added hatred to this mile because very few people actually run the fucking thing. When we sprint a lap or two, I'm always game... and I'm always the first girl done with the task... and if I get a good-enough head start on two particular guys in class, I'm the first person done. I hustle... I hustle HARD, just so I can get the damn thing done.
However, I find I'm usually one of the few who actually DOES this stupid thing. Well over two-thirds of the class just WALK HALF a lap, go to the bathroom, and then go back to the room to continue with the weight-lifting portion of the class.
This boils the fucking HELL out of my blood... I damn near foam at the mouth... and I definitely shoot death-glares at every single lazy fuck I see walk through the doors-- MORE SO to the fucking cunts I catch already in class, acting as if they ran the allotted laps... which I know they DID NOT, because none of them passed me on the track... I often scowl at them while mouthing "Liar" directly to their faces.
The dishonesty of others infuriates me... but the fact that the instructor knows this shit is going on, and STILL does it pisses me off most. He knows I kill the one or two laps, but still insists on the mile-- that shit fucks up my shins, it's too much stress on my body.
So as protest, I don't do it at all-- I just grab my shit and go home.
This was the case yesterday. After fucking killing myself with all the plyos, the moment the trainer ordered the class to run the mile, I walked over to grab my towel, water bottle, and car keys, and proceeded to walk out of the class.
I was one of the first people walking out the door, and next thing I know, the instructor snatches the water bottle out of my hands, and goes for my hand holding my car keys.
For the next two-three minutes, I stand there, asking for the return of my water bottle, and he demanding my car keys so I can go on and run the mile.
Me: Not gonna happen.
Him: Gimme the car keys. You can't run with your car keys.
Me: I can't run that much. Give me my water, please.
What was REALLY pissing me off was the fact that his fucking groupies walking past us kept giving me "encouragement."
Annoying18YearOldTwat: Come on girl! You can do it! Wooo!
AnnoyingTwat2: Yeaaaah! Let's go, girl!
As if I was some fucking out-of-shape slob.
I was fighting the urge to "encourage" these fucking annoying girls to squat 200 pounds with their fucking noodle legs while I enthusiastically hooted "COME ON GIRL! YOU CAN DO IT!" Because everyone knows yelling words of encouragement helps you accomplish physically impossible tasks (the running is currently impossible for me because I've been nursing a fractured metatarsal for well over two months. I keep fucking it up because cunts keep yelling "encouraging" shit when I'm told to perform an excessive amount of burpees... always resulting in a re-injury of my fucking toe. Running on it is excruciating).
So... I was PISSED... but trying to keep my composure.
Keep the fucking bottle... it's only a dollar.
And just as I was about to walk away, completely done with my "begging," the guy gave me my bottle and I walked away.
Why don't you give your bitch this much of a hard time? SHE never runs.
It wasn't until night time when I realized the level of rage reached... once I saw the cold sore.
Those bad boys always betray me and let me know just how fucking deep certain actions really cut me.
FUN TIMES!
It's well documented I HATE running. I'll sprint a couple of laps, just to get my HIIT in... but from that to making me run a mile after an hour of intense kickboxing is insane. It's NOT. GOING. TO. HAPPEN.
I was NOT built to run long distances... for fucking SHIT. I'm a fucking OX... I'm built to survive long, harsh winters... built to carry shit twice my weight... built to wrestle motherfucking bison... THAT'S the type of body I was given. I was not given the body of some fucking marathon runner... person who had to carry fucking surrendering orders to pussy-ass tribes... person adept to fleeing at the first sign of danger (can you tell my fucking disdain for this fucking activity, or should I continue?).
SO, when I'm ordered to run a mile, I will give my best contempt-filled glare, and walk out.
There's an added hatred to this mile because very few people actually run the fucking thing. When we sprint a lap or two, I'm always game... and I'm always the first girl done with the task... and if I get a good-enough head start on two particular guys in class, I'm the first person done. I hustle... I hustle HARD, just so I can get the damn thing done.
However, I find I'm usually one of the few who actually DOES this stupid thing. Well over two-thirds of the class just WALK HALF a lap, go to the bathroom, and then go back to the room to continue with the weight-lifting portion of the class.
This boils the fucking HELL out of my blood... I damn near foam at the mouth... and I definitely shoot death-glares at every single lazy fuck I see walk through the doors-- MORE SO to the fucking cunts I catch already in class, acting as if they ran the allotted laps... which I know they DID NOT, because none of them passed me on the track... I often scowl at them while mouthing "Liar" directly to their faces.
The dishonesty of others infuriates me... but the fact that the instructor knows this shit is going on, and STILL does it pisses me off most. He knows I kill the one or two laps, but still insists on the mile-- that shit fucks up my shins, it's too much stress on my body.
So as protest, I don't do it at all-- I just grab my shit and go home.
This was the case yesterday. After fucking killing myself with all the plyos, the moment the trainer ordered the class to run the mile, I walked over to grab my towel, water bottle, and car keys, and proceeded to walk out of the class.
I was one of the first people walking out the door, and next thing I know, the instructor snatches the water bottle out of my hands, and goes for my hand holding my car keys.
For the next two-three minutes, I stand there, asking for the return of my water bottle, and he demanding my car keys so I can go on and run the mile.
Me: Not gonna happen.
Him: Gimme the car keys. You can't run with your car keys.
Me: I can't run that much. Give me my water, please.
What was REALLY pissing me off was the fact that his fucking groupies walking past us kept giving me "encouragement."
Annoying18YearOldTwat: Come on girl! You can do it! Wooo!
AnnoyingTwat2: Yeaaaah! Let's go, girl!
As if I was some fucking out-of-shape slob.
I was fighting the urge to "encourage" these fucking annoying girls to squat 200 pounds with their fucking noodle legs while I enthusiastically hooted "COME ON GIRL! YOU CAN DO IT!" Because everyone knows yelling words of encouragement helps you accomplish physically impossible tasks (the running is currently impossible for me because I've been nursing a fractured metatarsal for well over two months. I keep fucking it up because cunts keep yelling "encouraging" shit when I'm told to perform an excessive amount of burpees... always resulting in a re-injury of my fucking toe. Running on it is excruciating).
So... I was PISSED... but trying to keep my composure.
Keep the fucking bottle... it's only a dollar.
And just as I was about to walk away, completely done with my "begging," the guy gave me my bottle and I walked away.
Why don't you give your bitch this much of a hard time? SHE never runs.
It wasn't until night time when I realized the level of rage reached... once I saw the cold sore.
Those bad boys always betray me and let me know just how fucking deep certain actions really cut me.
FUN TIMES!
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