AJMAC forgot to mention that I run barefoot also, but that's not important... or true. For that matter, probably very little of what will follow (if any) is important, and most likely will be incoherent. Bear with me. I just awoke from a much needed, and thoroughly enjoyable, nap.
It has been over a year since I trained seriously toward any athletic goal. Now that I've been running for the last three weeks, I'm remembering why I haven't done it for so long. I have a spare tire where my wash board should be. (I never really had wash board abs. I just wanted to say that, but now I have a spare tire in addition to no wash board.) My lungs, I think, have shrunk in size. My joints crack whenever I take a step, and sometimes when I'm just sitting around doing nothing. Also, I'm balding. I don't know what that has to do with my athletic state, but as long as I'm venting, why not throw that in there? At least, in that regard, I'm in good company on this team. ZING! and though I may regularly wrastle large, ferocious animals that would rather sample my face than have a rectal thermometer shoved up the poop-shoot, I'm not in good shape at all; although, my face (I'm happy to say) is still intact. For now.
When I used to run on a regular basis, I took joy in it. I would look forward to my daily run. I would spend time mapping out the route in my head just so that I could change up the scenery a little; maybe throw in a couple trails or a beach here and there. Now the scenery is the least of my concerns, and not because pit bulls chase me or school bus drivers decide my route needs to end at a particular street corner, and the ambulance can pick it from there. No. I can't take joy in my runs any more because I'm starting from square one again. As CGB does, I used to think during my runs. The daily run used to be quite a productive thinking time. Now, all that my brain in capable of cognating during a run is, "left, right, left, right. breathe. left... whoa there, watch out for that puddle. On second thought, never mind, just breathe. Shoes dry out, but that molecule of oxygen that's going by right now, you may never see him again. left, right." Therefore, I confess: I am out of shape. (However, I would just like to add here that although every guy may wish he was Tom Brady, I don’t know anyone, myself included, who would mysteriously wear a foot cast around the week before the Super Bowl, and then mysteriously botch the biggest game of the season. Way to go Tom.)
Consequently, my first goal on the road to sub-19-dom is to enjoy running once again. My plan is to run every day except Sunday until running is second nature once more; until I can run AND smell the proverbial roses (without stopping, of course). My teammates have a good two minute head start, and that's a lot of time to make up over the course of 3.1 miles. I’ve got some hewing to do before the fine carpentry. Thus, I run. (and for those of you who don’t know me, I am quite a bit less attractive than Suzanne Somers.)
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