Anatomy of a Monday run

This is an example of my internal dialogue each Monday as I slog my way through my morning run. Mileage, soundtrack and attitude may vary.

Mile 1. I emerge from the house, begrudgingly. "GOD, it's (insert weather extreme here)! I hate this. My sports bra feels weird. Ugh, these are the wrong socks. I already have a wedgie. I'm never drinking wine on a Sunday again. When did I decide running to Coldplay was a good idea?"

After warming up for a few blocks, I pass a local bus stop. "Thanks for smoking, bus guy. Nothing I enjoy more than feeling like I'm running through a bar circa 1998....Oooh, Ke$ha!"

Running in our neighborhood around dawn is like being Snow White in a Disney film, with woodland creatures threatening to alight on every limb. "Jesus Christ! You almost gave me a heart attack, stupid friggin' rabbits! Where the fuck did all these rabbits come from?? When did I move to Watership Down?....C+C Music Factory, you make me sweat indeed."

MIle 2. First traffic light. "It's called a red light, garbage truck driver. I'm sure looking at your iphone is distracting you from noticing the rather tall woman covered in reflectors. Not wanting to join Teddy Ruxspin as a hood ornament, I will let you have the right of way. I hope a bag full of old diapers opens on you today....Can I go home yet?"

Approaching other runners, running side by side coming form the opposite direction, "Guess I will dangerously hop into the street to pass you since you can't stop your conversation long enough to have one of you fall behind for three seconds. PS, if you can talk, you're not running fast enough....Y'all gon' make me lose my mind. That's right, DMX."

"Gotta return those library books. Where did I put my library card? Put milk on the grocery list. Blergh. Never eating brownies on a Sunday night again either. Would it be terrible if I threw up in the street? Remember to buy birthday present for party next week....No, Will Smith, your parents understood, they were just to broke to buy you Adidas, you insensitive prick.""

Mile 3. Approach the house of Old Running Guy. Old Running Guy is about a hundred and has the veiny, knobby legs of a long-time runner and seems to lie in wait for me each Monday when I am my slowest, to emerge and begin his run. He blinds me every morning with the headlamp he insists on wearing and shames me with his ridiculous pace. "Why are you up this early??? You have to be too old to work. Can't you do this later in the day and stop shaming me? Are you bionic?....This new Kelly Clarkson song is not all I dreamed it would be."

"Hi Snotty Bitch!" I actually do say "Hi" out loud, in a very aggressive manner. Running at this hour is like belonging to a club. We are all miserable, yet determined. I'm not looking for a long conversation, but we all give each other a little finger wave as a show of solidarity. Three months it took me to get this bitch to finally acknowledge me. I don't know why I care, I just do.

Mile 4. The Big Hill. This hill seems to go on FOREVER. If forever were a quarter mile. "OK, ipod Shuffle, what you got to get me up Big Hill? Neil Diamond? Come on! I can't stop to screw around with you, here. Enrique Iglesias? Was I drunk when I bought this song? Sade? OK, someone obviously stole you while I slept and LOADED YOU WITH CRAP!"

Mile 5. Running down Big Hill's other side. "MAKE 'EM GO, OH! OH! OH! AS YOU SHOOT ACROSS THE SKY-AY-AY!!! BABY YOU'RE A FIREWOOOORK! I love Katy Perry, I love running, why don't I do this more?"