Saturday, May 3, 2008

I've Got Balls

I'm not what you would call an exercise fanatic. I wish I was. I really do.

Every now and then I get the idea that I am going to become a runner. Couch potato to 5k, that's me. The couch potato.

It doesn't take me very long to realize that I am just plain not built for running.

My last adventure in running, which was approximately a year ago, had me out on the road at about 5:30 am. I had my dog with me, the 23lb miniature schnauzer. A truly imposing figure, I know. Shockingly, I was actually in pretty good shape at the time, so we were moving along quite nicely.

Typically, Freddy is pretty good at staying at heel, but this morning things were different. Across the street appeared a jack rabbit straight from the depths of purgatory, who apparently, was hell bent to ruin my becoming a runner. Freddy took OFF after the stupid rabbit going roughly 75mph. To his defense, he didn't take very long to recognize that he was in the wrong and promptly corrected himself. The problem was that when he took off, he ran in front of me. When he came back, he ran behind me, effectively tying my ankles together.

It was all so quick. I was flat on my face in no time. My knees didn't buckle. My arms didn't brace my fall. Nothing. I really do wish someone had it on video. I'm sure it was hilarious, but it was 5:30 in the bloody a.m., so there's little chance of that. I dusted myself off, picked the stones from my palms and hobbled home, all the while cursing in my head, and contemplating selling my pup on e-bay.

I didn't worry about my foot too much. I've been raised with the 'walk it off' mentality. No bones or blood showing? You're fine. I got dressed, in high heels, and went to work. Around 4th period one of my students asked me what the heck was wrong with my foot. (I actually believe the F- word was involved, but that is neither here nor there. And once I saw my foot, I realized that the F-word was actually a pretty reasonable response.) I looked down and saw that my whole foot was completely misshapen, swollen out the top of my shoe and all kinds of black and blue. Turns out I re-cracked an old break along the edge of my foot...that was it for my most recent stint at becoming a runner.

Jump to today- As an act of international diplomacy, I have revisited the thought of trying to become the runner that I know deep down, I am not. Thailand is neither ready for, nor has she done anything to deserve my current swimsuit body.

A secondary part of this plan involves a sit-up or fifty. As it turns out, every time I get on this workout kick, I get it in my head to employ the aid of a workout ball. When my steam runs out and/or I get annoyed with the gigantic ball rolling around my house, I deflate it. Inevitably, the pump and the plug get lost and rather than actually look for them, I just buy another ball.

Long story.......long. I've got balls, about 7 of them.

3 comments:

Mona said...

7? There should be some points for that.

Jillian said...

You would think so.

Glen said...

You can be like me. Become a bike fanatic so that you can be a wake at 3 in the morning with sore muscles.