Hey team, today I was out jogging like usual. Every evening if it's not raining I will go out to a local track or just run out alongside the road. It is good exercise and it is good fun. However today I was feeling very good; I had just eaten a big old honking Subway sandwich and two perfectly made, fresh from the oven oatmeal raisin cookies. I felt like I could conquer the world.
And to top it off, it was the perfect weather for running - mild temperature, pretty low humidity, and the sun just winking it's happy rays over the horizon as a cool breeze flowed carelessly by, caressing my every joint and mmmm hmmm... hmmm...mmm
Anyway, I decided that I didn't feel like boring old jogging today and I wanted to see how far I could sprint. I'm in pretty good shape and I really felt like I could do quite a bit of sprinting. And I mean, sprinting sprinting, not meager gallops, not slightly intensified jogging, not canoeing - running full sprint as far as I could go.
So I set up, do my stretches and do a slow jog for a single lap. Now the blood is flowing and I'm giddy as can be. I make it back to the line I started at and took off running at full blast! What an exhilarating experience, the wind blowing through my hair and cooling my face, the mad rush of my racing feet pounding away at the clay, the rampant thumping of my heart as I flew down the track. All in all it was pretty cool for the first 15 seconds or so. But after I stopped thinking of cool sounding descriptions to blow up the moment for my audience later, I realized I had only been running for 15 goddamn seconds and it was already really hard.
But I persevered. I kept on running, thinking only about my labored breathing and the sweat dripping from me like I was the least efficient sprinkler system in the world. I couldn't even think of decent similes anymore, for goodness sake! Then the unthinkable, the worst thing imaginable happened to me - a fucking bug flew in my nose.
"God damn it" I yelled, or something along those lines but probably more vulgar. I was using that nose for breathing! I tried very hard to maintain my pace while frantically blowing my nose on the air trying to get this horrible insect out. It was probably already gone, far up into my nose and down into the horrible abyss of my body only to be sweated out seconds later because, hey, it probably contained water, my body thought. I eventually gave up and kept pushing. Of all the things to happen...
I was still going strong. Well, maybe not strong. I was perspiring more than I ever have in my entire life, my body turning to whatever substance it could get its hands on in order to sweat it out. I had a feeling if I kept going I'd start sweating pee and peeing blood and then sweating both. My heart was in agony, beating easily over 9000 (oh I'm so sorry) times per minute all the while crawling slowly up my spine in order to have a nice "word" with my brain about this whole running thing.
So I as I came upon my starting line again I finally, eventually, horribly, climatically stopped. I could barely stand at this point, much less walk, but I needed to get to my Gatorade (man look at how many brands I am endorsing in this post alone why aren't they paying me anything) in order to not, you know, die. I slowly meander over, swaying greatly and watching as the approximate volume of the Bearing Sea dripped from my body. I got over to the Gatorade and nearly collapsed, but I remained standing for fear of not being able to wake up if I ever sit down again.
So I take my big, 1 gallon bucket of blue flavored Gatorade and start chugging like an idiot frat boy trying to something something something. I'm not even thinking anymore, am I? I checked my brain with a quick tap to the skull. Nope, not thinking. That's okay, I was getting the liquids I needed, so it was okay for Mr. Brain to tap out for a little while, even if he didn't really do any actual work (the slacker).
After taking in more Gatorade than I knew my body could even allow, I reflected on my achievement, trying to count how many laps I had gone. I racked my brain, who was obviously not being very helpful to me (probably because he thinks I have become to much of a jock to hang out with it anymore) and came up with a total of 8 laps. 8 laps at 400 meters a lap is 3200 meters, which to the best of my calculations is a really long way to sprint. Now granted I probably wasn't really sprinting in the same spirit as all those Olympic athletes and I probably wasn't actually even near the pace of the 3200 meter runners but it felt pretty damn fast to me and I think it's the thought that counts.
Of course, this is an accomplishment for me. I know all of you football (soccer) players will come up and say "Oh well yes we do 10 sets of those for warm-ups and then we go on to play outrun the cheetahs driving sports cars for the next 16 hours before taking a single sip of water to completely refuel our bodies and in conclusion you are suck" but I feel like I have done well. Or something along those lines.
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