Tuesday, August 20, 2013

In Which I (Try to) Run

So I've been in a funk lately - somehow I'm sure I've mentioned that and may be flogging that particular horse far, far longer than I should - and have been attempting to self-diagnose my underlying issue.  It occurred to me sometime last week that I haven't exercised in a while and I'm pretty sure my endorphins are lazy and don't bother to activate themselves for any reason other than getting bitch-slapped and told to move it, move it.

It's also been cooler this summer than the previous two, and the highs have only been around 90, not 190.  Or 110, which is pretty much the same thing.

On Friday I went for a walk.  It was nice.  I didn't have an immense psychological breakthrough or anything, but my legs certainly informed me in no uncertain terms that they had been under-utilized lately and reminded me that exercise really shouldn't be optional at my age.

Getting older sucks.

The weather remained nice enough that I went out again on Sunday night.  Oz came with me.  We both brought our headphones and walked in relative silence next to one another for most of the distance, but just as we reached the nice downward-sloping hill to the house, Green Day's song "Nice Guys Finish Last" started playing.

You can't not run to that song, and so I trotted slowly down the hill and rounded the corner onto the cul-de-sac toward home.  I made it home only slightly more out of breath than I had already been, and this thought suddenly popped into my head: "Why don't I add a little more jogging to the walk?  Maybe at the end?  Just to end on a positive note?"

It's a sign of how far down my brain has gone that I was even contemplating this.  I am not a runner.  My knees say no, and so does my physique.  It's kind of like that scene from Will & Grace, the gym scene that goes like this:
 
GRACE: Ok, her... [POINTING TO A WOMAN] Could I ever have a body like hers?
 
WILL: Well, she appears to be of Nordic descent. They tend toward the live and bosomy, so--so as to help their buoyancy whilst navigating down the fjords.
 
GRACE: So...no?
 
WILL: Grace, you don't want that kind of a body. You're a--you're of a hardier peasant stock. Yours is a body built for...
 
GRACE: What? Linebacking?
 
WILL: No, no. Picking and carrying baskets of onions to market. On your head.

I should not consider running.  I know this.  However, in my altered-brain state, it sounded like an excellent idea.  And so, last night, I put my headphones back on and headed out.  All through the walk, I was psyching myself up to jog the entire cul-de-sac at the end.  When I finally reached the cul-de-sac, I turned, took a couple of deep breaths...

and remembered EXACTLY why I should not run.

My high school history teacher even nicknamed me Phoebe. 
This should have told me something.
It was a combination of the above image and something else... the fact that apparently if you jog and have just the right body type, your ass will actually smack against your thighs as you run, which produces a sound nobody should ever hear. 

I did not make it all the way around the cul-de-sac in that state.

Perhaps there is a reason that I tell the kids, "Old people don't run."

1 comment:

Beth said...

This. This is the EXACT reason I do not run unless I am forced with a REAL and fatal reason. The fat slap is just hideous. And should never happen. To anyone.