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 !<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
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.
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\nLumber, lumber, lumber, lumber, derp, derp, derp, derp…<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
Tick.<\/p>\n
Tick.<\/p>\n
Tick.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
And then i just fucking DARE me to keep going. Do it, you pussy. Just fucking do it<\/em>. <\/p>\n 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.<\/p>\n 29:00 I did it. I did it again. I feel terrible. I feel great. <\/p>\n 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. <\/p>\n It’s time to be serious and honest with you- with myself. I’m doing this because:<\/p>\n 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<\/a>. Good lord that is some serious delicious although it probably should not be eaten on a frequent basis. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" 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 … <\/p>\n
\nDon’t look<\/em>
\n29:25
\nStop looking<\/em>
\n29:45
\nFuck it. I’m watching.<\/em>
\n30:00<\/p>\n\n