'80s Man
I ran during lunch. First I did some abs and test pushups to see if my shoulder is healed enough to be usable again. It only sort of was. I have no idea exactly how I hurt my shoulder, but it definitely hasn't been happy for awhile.
Anyway, it's somewhere between warm and cold today, depending on the wind and whether or not I'm in the shade or sun. I ran in my old high school track shorts and a standard T-shirt. It wasn't warm to start off, but by the time I got to the park and started trying to do sprints I was hardly concerned with being cold. I was mostly concerned with not throwing up or falling down.
Apparently running without fuel is indeed a great way to lose weight, or at least that's what they tell me. I sure as hell haven't seen any results to confirm that. But one thing it is not, it is not a great way to produce the energy necessary to sprint. I felt like an elephant trying to slam dunk a basketball out there.
I started off just sprinting between light poles. Naturally, all the park employees stopped working to watch me. No, I'm not that attractive. And I assume they aren't all gay. But I run funny, like a lumbering dork. You can't miss me in any race. No matter how fast I go, no matter where I place, I look like a dork when I run.
My Dad described it this way: you don't run like the other runners. You look different.
That's as diplomatic as My Dad ever was. Really. That was holding back in the extreme for him. He took pride in his ability to slam people, especially me.
Anyway, I didn't want to be the entertainment for the park crew, so I jogged over to a soccer field and did more sprints there. I guess I thought if I wasn't continuously running during and between sprints then maybe I would feel less inclined to projectile vomit.
I don't do well on cold windy days. My sinuses and allergy problems dry out my throat and make me prone to hurling. But I run anyway and just hurl when the need arises. If not, I'd never have been able to compete, and I loved to compete. I was good. I'm not now.
On the soccer field I ran as best I could without breaking form, dragging my feet, or pulling a hamstring. I say "as best I could", but to be fair it wasn't very good. I felt slower than a loaded minivan in rush hour traffic. And I probably was, too.
I sprinted until I was wobbling and weaving like a drunk about to pass out and then I jogged the mile and a half back home again.
Just prior to this pathetic workout I had been reading Trojan's blog. Even though I'm quite aware that my workouts are nothing special and certainly nothing to be proud of, after reading what she's doing I felt even worse. She's a machine. And somewhere in between her endless super workouts she finds time to practice singing and acting and being a superstar. You should go check out her blog. She's got a recording of her singing on there from a few days ago. It's really good. It'll stick in your head and make you want to listen to it again.
I sang in the car on the way back to work after showering. It was awful. A woman in a minivan saw me singing and laughed at me. She couldn't even hear me, but apparently I look as bad as I sound. So, with that in mind I promise not to post any recordings of me singing. You should go listen to Trojan's instead. She's good.
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