Chariots of Ire.
Last year I decided to run. I'd always thought that running wasn't me. I preferred the thought of doing something in which I'd be learning as well. This never happened save for a brief stint I spent training to box. It was lots of fun, I had been in the best shape I'd ever been in, I learned to defend myself to a degree, I learned how to throw a punch...something you'd think would be a pretty natural thing to do except there's so many ways to not punch right, like those 1920s boxers with their fists face up like their looking at their fingernails. It was actually an ill-executed blow that ended my boxing career. I had sprained my wrist and couldn't continue.
Anyways, since then I had done my best to not move unless I had to, eat more or less whatever I wanted and see how much I could smoke (quite a bit. I could have out-smoked you on the smokingest day of your life).
If it burns, I could smoke it.
Last year I wanted it to be over. I knew I didn't have any more excuses. I was going to eat right. I didn't live with my parents anymore, I didn't have to eat what they bought. It was all up to me. If I wasn't how I wanted to be, inside or out, I could only blame myself.
Don't get me wrong, I wasn't obese. I was like most twenty-something-to-thirty-something men. I felt okay, nothing out of the ordinary. Not unhealthy but chances were I couldn't outrun someone trying to kill me. Just like normal. The handles, a bit of a paunch, but not fat. Nowhere near, really. But I did have the body of a man that smoked a pack a day and hadn't run since elementary school. And having quit smoking six months hence, I decided it was time.
She and I lived in an apartment complex which included its "state of the art gym!". Not really understanding what that means really, I can't say whether it was or not. But I will tell you what state of the art meant in this case. It was a temperamental treadmill, an elliptical machine, a stationary bike that didn't work and a medieval weight pulley system that looked like it would come crashing down on you soon, all crammed in a room so small it made getting really sweaty next to someone else you didn't know also getting really sweaty pretty darned uncomfortable. I've learned that "state-of-the-art" is a term that anyone could throw around as they pleased. I could sell my "state-of-the-art" toaster oven for a pretty penny, citing its "dual-side browning action!", its sleek temperature-resistant chrome handle, perfect for opening an otherwise unopenable door. Its toasting degree knob, for the man with a worldly palette. Nevertheless, I plowed forth.
I really did. I went often. I went too often because I messed up my knee really badly after about two months. Note to everyone; when it feels like you might need a break, take one dammit. I got in shape though. Best in my life. Better than when I boxed, too. I could run, I never had before. I mean, I was the quickest in my class in seventh grade but I was a sprinter, a good trump card during track and field try-outs between rival schools but I just wasn't there for the long-haul. I couldn't keep running. (Note: said school has since been torn down and rebuilt due to high levels of asbestos in the ceilings and walls. Mmmm.)
The first day I ran on the treadmill I thought that I would walk it first, maybe do that for a few weeks until I was ready. Sound advice, made sense at the time, until I got there and realized that the apartment complex's staff was in the next room holding a meeting right next to these huge glass doors. Intimidation can go a long way; I ran two miles that day. Never had ever, even including my grade seven track days. I ran home to call my wife.
I got pretty into it, and eventually switched to the elliptical machine after an unfortunate knee injury. This past winter, though, I let it go. We moved to an apartment complex that had no gym, state-of-the-art or other, so we took to running outdoors. Much better on the knees than a treadmill. So when it came time for snow I stopped, but I had forgotten to switch my internal weather-anticipator from Canadian to Hoosier. There was months there where I could have still ran outdoors. Who knew December could be so warm? I'd stopped because I figured why bother? I'd just be getting one more run in before the weather goes to hell. One more run's going to do nothing, I need to be regimented. So seeing the warm weeks pass by, expecting snow, was less than inspiring. Also I took to eating meat again, which, combined with my new exercise regiment (which was no exercise), meant I gained almost all the weight back. Quickly, too; let this be a lesson for everyone out there (who am I kidding?) who thinks they can passively remain fit over the winter months. Benicio del Toro gained 27 pounds in 6 weeks for his role as Oscar Zeta Acosta by not exercising and eating nothing but the worst of the worst. 6 weeks. 6 weeks is nothing. Our metabolisms are fragile things, balancing precariously between fit and Dr. Gonzo type obesity at any given moment. Scary thought, really.
Anyways, we've received a good amount of nice weather this past week here, so I've consecutively ran three days now. We're getting some rain later in the week so I'll take it easy then. It's funny running after a five month hiatus, you feel the muscles you've neglected, your lungs are pretty tight, you're uncoordinated; couldn't be a less pretty sight if I chose to run while eating a plum.
Wish me luck.
Anyways, since then I had done my best to not move unless I had to, eat more or less whatever I wanted and see how much I could smoke (quite a bit. I could have out-smoked you on the smokingest day of your life).
If it burns, I could smoke it.
Last year I wanted it to be over. I knew I didn't have any more excuses. I was going to eat right. I didn't live with my parents anymore, I didn't have to eat what they bought. It was all up to me. If I wasn't how I wanted to be, inside or out, I could only blame myself.
Don't get me wrong, I wasn't obese. I was like most twenty-something-to-thirty-something men. I felt okay, nothing out of the ordinary. Not unhealthy but chances were I couldn't outrun someone trying to kill me. Just like normal. The handles, a bit of a paunch, but not fat. Nowhere near, really. But I did have the body of a man that smoked a pack a day and hadn't run since elementary school. And having quit smoking six months hence, I decided it was time.
She and I lived in an apartment complex which included its "state of the art gym!". Not really understanding what that means really, I can't say whether it was or not. But I will tell you what state of the art meant in this case. It was a temperamental treadmill, an elliptical machine, a stationary bike that didn't work and a medieval weight pulley system that looked like it would come crashing down on you soon, all crammed in a room so small it made getting really sweaty next to someone else you didn't know also getting really sweaty pretty darned uncomfortable. I've learned that "state-of-the-art" is a term that anyone could throw around as they pleased. I could sell my "state-of-the-art" toaster oven for a pretty penny, citing its "dual-side browning action!", its sleek temperature-resistant chrome handle, perfect for opening an otherwise unopenable door. Its toasting degree knob, for the man with a worldly palette. Nevertheless, I plowed forth.
I really did. I went often. I went too often because I messed up my knee really badly after about two months. Note to everyone; when it feels like you might need a break, take one dammit. I got in shape though. Best in my life. Better than when I boxed, too. I could run, I never had before. I mean, I was the quickest in my class in seventh grade but I was a sprinter, a good trump card during track and field try-outs between rival schools but I just wasn't there for the long-haul. I couldn't keep running. (Note: said school has since been torn down and rebuilt due to high levels of asbestos in the ceilings and walls. Mmmm.)
The first day I ran on the treadmill I thought that I would walk it first, maybe do that for a few weeks until I was ready. Sound advice, made sense at the time, until I got there and realized that the apartment complex's staff was in the next room holding a meeting right next to these huge glass doors. Intimidation can go a long way; I ran two miles that day. Never had ever, even including my grade seven track days. I ran home to call my wife.
I got pretty into it, and eventually switched to the elliptical machine after an unfortunate knee injury. This past winter, though, I let it go. We moved to an apartment complex that had no gym, state-of-the-art or other, so we took to running outdoors. Much better on the knees than a treadmill. So when it came time for snow I stopped, but I had forgotten to switch my internal weather-anticipator from Canadian to Hoosier. There was months there where I could have still ran outdoors. Who knew December could be so warm? I'd stopped because I figured why bother? I'd just be getting one more run in before the weather goes to hell. One more run's going to do nothing, I need to be regimented. So seeing the warm weeks pass by, expecting snow, was less than inspiring. Also I took to eating meat again, which, combined with my new exercise regiment (which was no exercise), meant I gained almost all the weight back. Quickly, too; let this be a lesson for everyone out there (who am I kidding?) who thinks they can passively remain fit over the winter months. Benicio del Toro gained 27 pounds in 6 weeks for his role as Oscar Zeta Acosta by not exercising and eating nothing but the worst of the worst. 6 weeks. 6 weeks is nothing. Our metabolisms are fragile things, balancing precariously between fit and Dr. Gonzo type obesity at any given moment. Scary thought, really.
Anyways, we've received a good amount of nice weather this past week here, so I've consecutively ran three days now. We're getting some rain later in the week so I'll take it easy then. It's funny running after a five month hiatus, you feel the muscles you've neglected, your lungs are pretty tight, you're uncoordinated; couldn't be a less pretty sight if I chose to run while eating a plum.
Wish me luck.
posted by tentaculum at 9:53 PM
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