I exercised! For two days in a row! There has to be some kind of award for that, because my body is already pissed at me for interrupting its couch/internet/nacho regimen. It rebelled today on the bike trail.
My version of "running" is different from Serious Runners. Serious Runners do just that--they run. Usually in some crazy spandex outfit and specially crafted shoes with a strange combination of gel, strategic holes, and air bubbles. If I tried to do that, I'd turn bright red and collapse. I know this, because I tried to play soccer in 3rd grade.
So I do a walk/run combo...run for thirty breaths, walk for thirty breaths. Today, the proletariat muscles of my body joined together (under the leadership of my left knee) in a Marxist revolution, and cried, "NO MORE! VIVA LA COUCH!" My walk/run came to a screeching halt.
I figured I had a choice--I could listen to my body's demands and walk, or I could totally be bad-ass, channel my inner Rocky, and crush the revolution under my running shoe! Mind you, this would inevitably lead to an equally bad-ass cane and permanent limp.
While I think I'd have a lot of fun rockin' a pimp cane and making up different stories about how I got my limp ("It was in 'Nam. I don't like to talk about it."), I succumbed to the masses. I walked. Now, a couple of ibuprofen (or as I like to call it, the "opiate of the people") later, I'm determined to give it another shot tomorrow. Seriously, if that doesn't deserve an award, what does?
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