Monday, September 17, 2012

sometimes, I am late for class

I have this thing about parking far away from my walking destination. It makes me feel like a healthier and happier human being for saving .0009 cents on gas by not driving those extra two parking spaces to get a little closer. Also I feel like I am doing my body some good.

There are few occasions where I regret parking in the boonies. Situation number 1 (thanks, Jack Johnson): in a rain/hail/snow storm. Particularly when I am wearing flip flops or toms. Situation number 2: When I am running late for class.

Key word - running. Something happened today. Let me try to paint this picture for you.

It was 5:10PM on Monday evening. I was taking my time getting my things together before heading for class. (And by getting my things together I mean standing in front of the pantry trying to decide what to eat.) I made it out to my car by 5:12, and started driving to school.

I made it to the school parking lot by 5:27. I also happened to park about 10 minutes walking distance away from my class. So I ran.

My backpack started bouncing awkwardly and I couldn't hold it in place. My arms were occupied; They were the support system needed for damage control on any anatomical structure that was straining to keep my boobs attached to my body. (In case you didn't catch that, I was holding myself in place with my forearms.)

What was I to do? I couldn't stop running. I was already late. So I buckled my back pack.
Yes, friends. I have the backpack that buckles at the hips & the chest. I took full advantage of that sucker and buckled the crap out of it. Then I continued running, only to smash into someone smoking. He wasn't really happy about it.

I finally got into the building, and turned to the stairs. How do I want to do this? Bleacher mode: Stepping on every step, or the Running Pelican: skipping as many steps as possible. 

I settled for the pelican. So there I was, legs outstretched, skipping 4 steps at a time. When I got to the top of the stairs, I decided to play it cool. So I walked to class.

It didn't work out. I walked in panting. I sat down, wheezing and trying to catch my breath like the eighty-year-old woman that I am. Then I unclipped the chest strap on my back pack.

Somehow amidst all the chaos of getting to class on time, I forgot to look in the mirror and see the giant tomato sauce stain on my left breast.

Dangit.