You might call me Ken. You might call me Masochist. Either way…
See, I screwed up my legs when I was younger. Before then, I could run and run and run – I loved to run. But after jumping off a three-story building and getting hit by a car and getting shin splints and generally thinking I was indestructible… well… let’s just say I wasn’t running any more.
But then, I found I could run on a treadmill. That was nice. But I hate having to drive somewhere to run – that’s just stupid.
Recently, I took up running on the river trail using the theory that if I ran on dirt it would cushion my legs the way the treadmill did. It’s taken several months for that to prove correct, several months of serious motherfucking pain. No fun. But I was running (well, jogging) again, and that was nice.
So, because I’m an idiot, I decided to add some weights to the routine. You know, really add some pain back in the mix. What I didn’t realize was that adding weights – just two 3-pound weights, mind you – wouldn’t hurt my arms as much as they would hurt my legs. Now, it’s like starting all over again and every jog is painful.
What the hell is wrong with me? Well, I’m fat and out of shape… there’s that…
Oh well. Such is the price I pay, right? All the same, I wish I’d added two 3-pound weights of ice cream…
No comments:
Post a Comment