…and it was the dumbest thing ever thought of in the history of the human race.
After watching people run around and smash into each other last night, and after smashing countless chips into countless dips while doing so, I made the mental decision when I went to bed that it was time to get back in shape. Even after I woke up this morning to head into work, groggy and weighed down by the gluttonous meal co-habitating with the rest of my internal organs, I was bound and determined to get it done after work was completed. What was I going to get done? Something, but I’d figure that out later.
Fast forward to 1pm. I have just arrived home from work, and in my room are two things: A set of weights, and my bed.
Fast forward to 2pm. Having laid completely awake for a solid hour, debating on trying to catch a quick nap or just watching something on Netflix, I peaked out the window. “It’s 6 degress outside and sunny” I remember saying to myself, “I CAN’T waste a day like today.” So I did what any rational person who hasn’t worked out in 3 months or gone for a distance run in 5 months would do…
…I put on my shorts, a t-shirt and a tank top, laced up the shoes and hit the road.
As always I took my trusty iPhone with me; not only did it contain the music that would drown out the screams from my legs, but it also included that handy Nike+ app which kept track of my pace and distance travelled. That way I could focus on my run while the iPhone kept track of everything else. Heck, it’s even nice enough to tell me my time, distance and what’s left as I run along! Being healthy couldn’t be more lazy!
To make a long and painful story short, I’ve compiled the results of this run in a handy slideshow, each picture a specific spot on the run that stood out in my brain, or more importantly in my legs. Let’s just say it isn’t pretty.
The entire time I was telling myself “Slow down, this isn’t a race, you’re going to hurt yourself.” But once that first foot hits the pavement I just can’t “contain the beast.” But trust me, it isn’t a beast right now. It’s a small little kitten who couldn’t get up the stairs without turning sideways, lest the calves snap my bones through my skin and leave me crumpled on the landing. I know tomorrow will feel bad. I know the next day will probably be worse. And I know that given enough time and healing, I’ll “forget” about what happened today and go out and do it again. But that’s what I’m counting on. Because each time I drag myself out of bed and do something, it’ll make it that much easier to do it again.
For now, I need three things: Water, ibuprofen, and the leftovers from the party yesterday. Mozza sticks heal all wounds. sports