Idiot Out Running Around 3/11/10

I expected to wake up this morning cold-free and loving it. Instead, I was still a little achy, chilled, and tired. My marathon-training schedule called for a twenty-three miler, but I was willing to scale that back, be realistic. Maybe just sixteen. O.K., maybe just ten. Then, definitely no more than six. Six is my average. I could do that on one leg. On one lung. In a superhero comic-book universe of my life, maybe.

I started slowly up the first hill-I didn't care about pace-I just wanted to log some time. It didn't matter. My body was struggling with whatever Death Funk had invaded it, though, so adding the stress of elective exercise shot my heart and respiratory rates out of sight. I felt as if I had climbed Mt.Everest without oxygen, while carrying a Sherpa. I thought I might drop dead, then roll back down the hill. Wouldn't that have been interesting to our cat, who was probably still sitting in the window, watching? I think the first fish-ape-humanoid who crawled out of the water, saw the saber-toothed giant rat coming for him, and scurried up a tree, had probably felt better than I did.

My goal then changed from six, to two miles-and after a phlegm-cleanse, make sure the life insurance policy was in order. This run sucked, as my wife says, "Like peanut butter through a straw." (Chunky would suck even worse, Darlin') A billion people in India, when asked for their opinion, replied, "Duh," which is short for "Duhmmy."

Thanks for humoring me.