Exercise fail.

My hair has received the Buffy Treatment. And you know how you’re supposed to leave it on as long as possible without washing it? Well it’s so red y’all, it looks like a head injury. Now hang onto that charming analogy, because we’re going to come back to it at the end of the story.

So I’m running, right? Hot, windless day today. Up and down hills in Hyde Park. In fact, the only saving grace from this miserable fitness experience was “I Wanna Sex You Up” playing on my iPod. No, it wasn’t on shuffle. I deliberately cued it up.

Anyway, it was getting to the point where my endurance had just crested over that ‘I want to kill myself’ portion of the workout. I was running down Duval, head held high. Sweating like a man, but feeling triumphant. I saw people staring at me from their cars, probably thinking: “oh, what a healthy person.” Or (hopefully?) “wow, she’s so fit!” Most likely: “well, she’s a little slow bless her heart, but at least she is trying.”

A few of the people stared slightly longer than what is appropriate for a passing glance. “Perverts,” I thought.

One woman’s mouth was slightly agape.

“Huh. What’s her problem.”

Finally, a man in a Hyundai slowed down to a stop, craned his head around and asked me, “are you OK?”

I stopped running, ready to give him a piece of my mind. “Look, I’m just running?! Why is it such a big deal??” But instead of blurting all that out, I paused, reached one hand up to my forehead to wipe off. Bright red streaks came off.

I looked down, saw crimson lines going down my neck and chest.


I waved him off and walked over to a parked car. This is what I saw:

Moral of the story: Never go running directly after dying hair.