Several Reasons Why My Sister Requires Rehab

So, I went running with my sister, Amanda, this morning, and here are two things that I now know for sure:

A. I am in worse shape than I thought.

B. My sister is on crack.

It’s true.

She is a crack-smoking, way-too-cheery, swingy-ponytailed, freak.

Here’s the deal. While I have been engulfed in a year of lazy assness, my sister has been running every day, eating healthy crap and completing the Washington D.C. Marine Corps Marathon.

Yep, that’s right, folks. She hasn’t just been running. She’s been running so damn much that I prayed that today – if only today! – would be the day her stupid swishy ponytail just said, “Alright, I’ve had enough!” and fell off.

Then, we could have stopped.

But it didn’t. And, instead, I chose to run one of the hardest hills there is in Pittsburgh because I have an ego problem. That, and the fact that I am a bit of a masochist, did not help my run with Barbie on crack.

Did not help at all.

Of course, instead of being intelligent and starting out slow after taking such a long exercise sabbatical, I decided to go all out. I have never been good at understanding such silly terms as “easing into it” or “beginner” or “sane.”

So, top off my Type-A personality with my juiced up sister and you know that I am just not going to be able to get out of bed tomorrow.

And if the fact that my sister is more athletically-advanced than I am right now is not enough, I must express one more thing to each one of you in order for this psychotic run to seep it’s way into your little brains:

The girl will not effing shut up.

I mean, I am literally begging for air and she is talking to me about the bagels she ate last night. As if I already don’t want to kill her, she is telling me about an activity that I would much rather be engaging in at that moment than running with a blabber mouth.

And then, she keeps talking. And I try to respond. And she talks. And I gasp. And she talks, and talks, and talks. And I search for the nearest person who may be carrying an inhaler.

And then …

we are going downhill.

I feel my naturally-imbedded pace begin to sink in, and I look over to my right at the cracked-up chatterbox.

And I realize what I have been missing.

That pain and hurt, and the feeling of weakness and strength duking it out is one of my favorite things about running.

And running with my sister … Well, I guess I missed that, too.

Amanda finishing her first marathon, October 28, 2007