Friday, May 16, 2008

Running on the road to nowhere

This weekend we're headed out of town so my wife can go run a half-marathon. She's a running fool....she's to the point that it's not specifically to maintain weight and stay in shape. It's a mental enjoyment she has that I cannot understand on any level. I guess that's what happens when you have been running for well over 10 years.

I have dabbled in running over the time that I've been married. There has really never been a point where I'm like--I can't wait to run! It's more like--look at the cinnamon roll flab around my stomach. Time to submit my body to pain in hopes that it will not grow larger. Last fall I was running 3 miles a couple times a week. It felt OK..and was considerably more boring than watching Ellen. Did I see the 6-pack that I had as a college student...no! Perhaps my affinity for foods containing over 50% fat by volume has something to do with it. Does my body like Nachos Bellgrande?--yes! Does my body like running?--not so much. Why submit my to Guantanamo-like torture? Well...I don't want to look like this:


I'm a reasonably fit person. Just shy of 6', and about 175 pounds. I eat a lot...I sit in a chair all day at work...I eat more...and yet I can't fathom how a person gets to the point that breathing becomes a chore. Do you wake up one day at 275 pounds and say...hmmm, I think I need to lose some weight? 275 doesn't look too bad. A year later, you're at 335 and still running strong. Pretty soon you're over 400 pounds and you've entered the "Maury Povich" zone. (Meaning that you're at risk of your family bringing you to the Maury Povich show for a food intervention) In between the sausage and bacon Mcgriddle, you think to yourself--how did this happen? I was bowling in the high 100's and playing guitar hero with ease just a few months ago. Now you save your diet mountain dew bottles....because it's just easier to go in them rather than miss the ending of Die Hard 2.

And therein lies the answer to why I think of running and say "I can't quit you." I don't want my ham hock thighs being used in some fat granularity experiment at a university after I've passed on. This---and I don't think I'll live much past 50. (a completely different post) So perhaps this will help me tack on another 4-5 years.

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