When I’m in different cities (like Chicago on this particular occasion) and it’s nice out, I try to get outside and run.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a runner. I think running sucks.
It’s up there with going to the dentist, or having to sit through 4 hours of a dance recital, only to see your daughter on stage for 1.5 minutes. (thank god those days are gone)
But you have to get outside while it’s nice.
Years ago I could get a run in without much incident.
Now I can’t even get out the door w/out some kind of pain (hamstring, calf, back etc…) and that’s just from stretching.
Then the chest hurts once I start running. (Yes, I wonder if I’m having a heart attack)
But the most depressing thing about running is that I feel like Forest Gump. Not the young Forest Gump who ran fast,
the old Forest Gump.
And that’s not such a bad thing really. Until I run by a window and see my reflection.
Then I feel like this.
I don’t even know if my left foot is off the ground before my right foot is landing, and vice versa.
Think I’m joking?
This should give you an idea of how slow I was going.
As I crossed an intersection, a woman was running in front of me (in high heels) and I couldn’t keep up w her.
Later, I was running by the entrance to a parking garage and noticed that a car was turning off the street and heading right for me (or where I’d be if I was moving faster than a 97 year old). The guy didn’t slow down at all, (which normally would’ve pissed me off) but since I’d run by the window earlier, and witnessed with my own eyes how pathetically slow I was running, it didn’t bother me at all. He probably thought I was standing still.
Towards the end of the run, I passed a burger joint and was able to smile through the pain,
thanks to Phil Hartman. (the clip surprisingly isnt available on YouTube, so you’ll have to settle for a pic)
“There’s a whooooole bunch of things we’re not going to tell Mrs Clinton about…”