Wednesday, May 28, 2008
I have been on a mission to get back into shape for hockey, and the evil masochist in me said "start running again--it's the fastest way to get lung capacity back up." What the little leather-clad angel forgot to mention, however, was "it's also the fastest route to feeling like someone has taken a drill to your heels and a sledgehammer to your ankles and knees." I feel like someone has driven strategically placed nails into my feet.
I have been running (actually, let's be honest here--walking and jogging) for 2 weeks now. It is hell. Now I remember why I HATED THIS SHIT in gym class--which, of course, was 20 years ago when my bones weren't made of dust and my muscles weren't completely atrophied.
Today I looked like a complete geriatric on Stevens Creek Trail. I could only lift my feet about 1/2 an inch off the ground, and that was possibly only by shaking my ass like I was in a Sir Mixalot video [oh.my.god. becky. look at how crippled she is]. My age loomed ominously before me as I realized that my lungs had outpaced my legs.
I can't believe I'm saying this, but running actually hurts worse than hockey. Hockey, which produced bruises that led my sister to comment that I looked like a battered wife. Possibly the cure is worse than the ailment, here?