Wanted: New Running Partner
About two weeks ago, Georgia told me that Blaise wanted to do a 5K race with some people he works with, so he’d elected her to train him. He’s as much of a jogger as Biggy, so I didn’t give it any mind. I just figured she’d hit the streets with him a couple of times, listen to him whine about the heat and his shin splints and how STUPID and BORING running is—like Greg does—and that would be that. George and I would go back to our lovely routine, pounding the neighborhood pavement while discussing such deep subjects as toe cleavage and laser arm-hair removal.
Like I said, that was two weeks ago, and Blaise has worked up to three miles, jogging half of that. When they’re not jogging, they’re at the Y, working out on the weight machines. And I’m stuck with two hours of Damien Rice on my Shuffle, because I’m too depressed or lazy to load new music.
How am I supposed to compete? Sure, she likes to boss me around, and no doubt she misses making me cry, but Blaise has the beautiful blond curls and the Ashton Kutcher smile. And Blaise can run with his shirt off.
So what if I bore her? So what if we once shared one body?