Today I went on a run. Those who know me personally are well aware that this isn’t a usual occurrence. Running is something I actively avoid. With a DD bra size, I come equipped with great reasoning: would you want to run with two bowling balls attached to you?  Yet despite my always-appropriate excuse, today seemed like the kind of day for a run. I imagine this is a non-runner thought process, and it only happens a few times a year. The temperature outside was 66 and sunny, my summer wardrobe is dominated with cropped tops, and my gym doesn’t have good cell reception.

I chose the perfect Pandora station; entitled “running”. With Nicki Minaj by my side all athletic activities are possible. If I ran at the pace of my own music I’d be slowly, sadly, walking to Ed Sheeran. I’m a very polite runner, probably because I love an excuse to take a break. I got started on my run, allowing each and every car to exit their driveway in my path.

At one point I had to cross a considerably long bridge. NO STOPPING I promised myself. The wind was up against me, but I still won every race I mentally initiated with the middle aged men tackling the same bridge. I only challenged those whom I thought I could beat. Of course they were unaware of our competition.

By the end of the bridge I had to catch my breath. I realized that I was pathetically out of shape. By my own personal standards I am not fat. I’m going through a period of time where my fridge is empty and I take my (prescribed) adderall instead of coffee. My arms are squishy right now, but the rest of me is a few pounds lighter than MY average.

At this point in my run I am struggling to reach the other side of the bridge. I thought it would be easier, given the direction of the wind, but I was jogging at a pace i’m pretty sure most people can out-walk. Flower petals transcend through the air. My nose felt raw, breathing was harsh, and although I am not ignorant to my physical condition– I knewwwww this discomfort was not entirely due to my laziness.

I checked the pollen count on my phone: 10/12. Typical. Breathing became increasingly difficult upon my realization of said pollen count. Nobody can run in that kind of weather, I excused myself.

I panted my way up the stairs. I walked into my front door to find my roommate Amanda surprised to see me sweating, and even more shocked to find out I went on a run. I suggested that I often excersize, a lie I often treat as the whole truth. I explained to her that I was struggling to catch my breath due to the pollen count. As any good friend would, she bitched about the weather with me.

Then the coughing started, and it didn’t really stop. I coughed throughout my shower. As I struggled to find some balance, I realized that I couldn’t blame the allergies I had recently self-diagnosed for my fatigue.

Like most recreational pot smokers, I don’t consider myself a smoker because I don’t do cigarettes. I have always comforted myself by remembering that pot is not an addictive drug. ….which is good news, because if pot were physically addictive, I would be royally screwed.

To be honest, I can’t imagine a foreseeable future where I give up weed entirely.  I love pot. I have experienced very few casual social situations in which rolling a J or passing around a bong was deemed unappealing. Food tastes better when you smoke, and my creativity level goes from 0-100 in the kitchen. Not to mention it is essentially a natural sleeping pill.

However, I KNOW my smoking habit has negatively impacted my motivation, and most likely my physical health as well (okay, definitely.) While I may have 0 interest in sobering up, for the reasons listed above, I do recognize that something needs to change. Afterall, I graduated college on Sunday (well, “walked”) and feel compelled to grow up on some level. So while I will probably never refuse a hit and I’m not quitting anything I’d like to rid myself of the stoner lable and psychological dependence.