May 18, 2013

The blog in which I torture myself for the sake of my heart health.

Gordon writes, "Running is a special kind of torture."  
No.  He is wrong.  It takes a special sort of stupid to insist on running, even when the pain is so intense from the first two days of attempting it, that the only motivation is two Tylenol, four Advil, and a shot of Pinnacle Whipped.  I had heard that one should not drink alcohol while on narcotics, because it may intensify the effects.  In my head, I tried to justify that if it can intensify a lovely narcotic feeling, perhaps it would intensify the anti-inflammatory properties as well.  If not, at least I would not feel the pain as bad from either liver damage of that combo, or from a little buzz.  I was wrong.  I took that concoction a half an hour before I went out on my walk/jog, and found that all that didn't even help because I yelped when I went to do a squat.  As in, just to sit down on the "throne," that squatting movement caused the yelp.  
Behind me... as always.  Come on, BRO'!  He also insists on my dragging him while he is prancing on grass.  At some point, I actually turned to him and called him, "Nancy."  I doubt he got that.  

So, I suit up my walking/jogging partner, Brody, my dog, and off we went.  That damn dog is soooo freakin' out of shape!  Every few steps, I would have to pull him to catch up with me.  Fortunately for him, he is sweet and I love him, so I keep taking him with me.  If he can't pick up the pace, I will surpass him athletically, and will have to drop him like a bad habit from my outings.  (I swear my time was handicapped by him, and the fact that I can't squat or move without feeling parts of my lower extremities due to abuse from attempting to do things WAY outside of my physical abilities.)  I wonder if I am thriving on the pain or the desire to do these activities without pain, one day.  Hmmm.  

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