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.
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.
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."