Okay, I was kind of lazy about wanting to hoof out to the woods and run yet again in darkness. So, I went to the gym instead, and ran in front of a bank of televisions. There’s something odd about running while watching COPS *and* Olympic coverage at the same time. On one screen, there’s this big fat black guy covered in flour and raspberry jelly because he and his girlfriend were involved in a food fight. On the other, there’s Misty May and her beach volleyball partner rolling around in the sand together after their victory (think pure thoughts!).
I’m SUCH a sweat sprinkler when I’m on the treadmill. It’s because I can’t hide from my pace. It’s there in front of me the whole time. Slowing down requires a complex technical equation, involving hitting lots of buttons in the correct sequence. Either that, or I have to hit the down arrow a LOT and it sounds like, “HEY! Look over here! The fat sweaty guy can’t hack it!”
So, when then, do people come run beside me? To look better? I guess. But this poor young lady was fastwalking along beside me, staring up at mostly the Olympics and less the COPS (I think this is like the way more guys like the Stooges than girls). And occasionally, I’d see her glance over at my sweat-spattered treadmill with a nose-turning shiver, perhaps imagining switching treadmills with me halfway.
And I put it ON. I sweat so much, it looks like I’ve been thrown in the ocean. Twice!
I had a great run, mentally, today. I was there the whole way. I played little games. I pushed my pace up to 7MPH and 8MPH for a little while. I ran circles around my willpower today. In short, I kicked sphincter.
Six miles of bliss, and if that thing doesn’t lie, 1079 calories burned. I found this scary, because I didn’t bring a Clif bar to eat on the run like I do in the woods. So, I ate like a pig at breakfast to try and compensate. I’ve been reading everywhere how athletes accidentally get fatter by starving their body of calories during their training and their bodies retaliate by slowing down their metabolism to hold on to whatever’s still hanging out.
I came home to a sleeping 2 year old and a sleeping wife. I spent a long while in the bathroom reading a book one of my coworkers suggested to me (Kiss Me Judas, by someoneorother Baer). Nice morning, gang.
What’d you do?
Related posts:
