Runner's Rage

I have a hard enough time moving my body for more than 5 consecutive minutes. When I have been doing this for about half an hour, I am definitely sucking wind, heaving and trying not to drool on myself in my fatigue. The last thing, last thing I need is an ajosshi (think male version of ajumma minus the visor and handbag) with an impressive pot belly in a too-tight t-shirt and disgusting biking shorts, standing on the ramp where all bikers and runners enter and exit the riverside trail smoking a cigarette. 

Seriously? No, I mean, really? Okay, yeah, we're outside. But have you ever walked down the sidewalk behind a smoker? It's like smoking only worse because there's no nicotine buzz or the calming satisfaction of inhaling death slowly but surely. There's only the choking and coughing as you, completely unaware that the guy in front of you has even lit up, attempt to take a deep breath of nice blue-sky afternoon fresh air. I wasn't walking behind him. I simply had to pass him and I thought my lungs were going to crawl up out of my mouth and strangle him they were so incredibly enraged. 

There seems to be no correlation here (or there) with smoking and health. I see serious hikers smoking at the top of mountains; I see basketball players take a smoke break; I see the gym guy light up after his workout. And now I see the lone potbelly biker (obviously not much of a biker are we Mr. Belly?) making it even more difficult for me to breathe, when the ChubbO is already like 5 years closer to death because of her latest foray by the river.  

So, rage rage rage, rage Rage, rage rage rage, and rage.