My Narcissism Killed a Lizard

I went shopping this morning for groceries. I went out mostly for milk, but I got some other good stuff too like yogurt and granola. On my way to the checkout, I saw this CK underwear box.

















This box lit a fire in my belly. I've been incredibly lazy as of late. Spring break and March Madness will do that to a fellow. The constant snacking on chips and cookies has been a problem. I can actually see the physical results of my sloth. This box reminded me that I need to do some serious running.

I don't think I will ever look like the CK advertisement (beyond the fact that I'm Asian guy and the CK model is a white guy), but I think of the sexy ad as a kind of goal. I run to reach that goal.

Despite what some people think, I don't actually enjoy running. Sure, I feel more vigorous when I'm done, and I secretly delight in wiping my hand on my forehead and tasting my own sweat, but I don't enjoy running. I run only for the health benefits.

The CK ad is my goal of running. I understand that is self-absorbed, superficial, and masturbatory, but I didn't title this post, “Hyper-Self-Confidence and Comfort in my Current Self-Image.” I'll be honest: It would be nice to look like a model. And I think everyone has that superficiality to some degree. That is why people like getting dressed up for a night on the town. That is why people wear make-up. And that is why, on Saturday afternoons, my running path is pretty damn crowded.

The original intention of the picture was not to post on the blog. I took the picture on my phone to motivate me to go running: I was afraid I would surrender to my couch once I got home.

After putting my groceries away, I set out on a run searching for the elusive CK-ad-like six pack.

Saturday's weather was perfectly warm. It wasn't so hot that I couldn't breath while running, but it was hot enough that the back of my shirt was visibly wet. I like looking sweaty, so when I pass people on the trail, they can see how hard I am running. Wow. I'm an egotistical fool.

I was running a pretty good pace when I looked down just in time to see a lizard sunning itself on the asphalt. The lizard was directly underfoot. I tried to alter my step, but it was too late—my right foot was already on its way down. I stepped on the poor lizard with all my body weight.

I think I only landed on about half of the lizard because it popped up and hit my calf, which was a very creepy feeling. I stopped my stride and examined the carnage. The lizard was gone—ran off into the bushes—but it left behind a tail and a slight oozing of fluid presumably lizard blood and internal viscosity.

I would have taken a picture of the tail as proof, but I was about four miles from my home, and I don't take my phone with me on my runs.

So there you have it. I stepped on a lizard. Usually, I think of my running as a private, self-love that doesn't really hurt anyone. But today, my personal narcissism killed a lizard. Well, to be fair, I don't know if I killed the lizard, but if I didn't kill it, I certainly gave it the worst day of its life. And that's a steep price for a six pack.