A few days ago i wrote about how i was finally able to run… um, LUMBER like some obtuse, pasty marshmallow fuck for thirty fucking minutes on a treadmill. No, it wasn’t pretty but i did it, i did it, I DID IT !
On Thursday night/ Friday morning, my lungs decided to fuck me and give me the beginning symptoms of a lung infection. This is characterized by a sore throat and congested lungs. Thankfully there was no fever associated with it and i didn’t have the full-on body aches that would indicate something more troublesome like the onset of influenza. But there was no mistake- my lungs were GANKED.
But yesterday i realized my car was driving me to the gym whether i liked it or not. Thankfully i had my gym clothes with me. Next thing i knew, i was there again, doing those stupid goddamned planks and then to the treadmill.
Lumber, lumber, lumber, lumber, derp, derp, derp, derp…
The twenty minute mark hits. Getting to twenty minutes is easy for me now but i have to ask myself i have it in me to go another ten minutes. Believe me, at the point that i’m at, there’s a HUGE difference between running for twenty minutes and thirty. I’m feeling pretty decent and decide to try. I’ll reevaluate when i hit 25 minutes.
At twenty two and a half minutes, it hits me. My legs hurt, my lungs are burning (and all ganky), my throat is dry. Lumber, lumber, lumber… I don’t even know if i can make it to twenty five at this point. Derp, derp, derp, derp.
But i dare me to stop looking down. I begin to count cars passing in front of me and promise that i’ll look down only after i’ve counted fifty cars zipping by. Zip zip zip… zip. Fifty cars. I look down. I’m at twenty five minutes. I feel terrible.
And then i just fucking DARE me to keep going. Do it, you pussy. Just fucking do it.
Lumber, lumber, lumber, lumber, sweat, sweat, sweat, sweat. Beads of sweat are falling off me at two, sometimes three drops at a time. My eyes sting, my heart rate is at 167 beats per minute. My body is screaming for me to stop, my mind is demanding that i keep going.
Fuck it. I’m watching.
I did it. I did it again. I feel terrible. I feel great.
Now. Why am i doing this? It’s not fun in the least and i seriously doubt even the most devout masochist would choose to run for no apparent reason.
It’s time to be serious and honest with you- with myself. I’m doing this because:
- I began this to trade one pain for another. I was going to cause serious harm to myself if i didn’t.
- I am tired of the distorted sense of self worth i have based on my shape. It’s not the only facet but it’s a tangible facet that i can change.
- I had a growing contempt for my sedentary lifestyle. It was costing me my self respect.
- I am tired of feeling my heart going off on me like a jackhammer when i barely exert myself.
- Because it’s the right thing to do.
Then, after sitting in the sauna for 20 minutes, until my sweat is falling off of me with more frequency than a broken raincloud, i drove downtown and ate at Santeria. Good lord that is some serious delicious although it probably should not be eaten on a frequent basis.