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Exercise, Day 5

Go figure: I am actually enjoying daily exercise!  It’s like a surprise every day.  Every night as I go to bed, I can hardly sleep, because I think to myself in excitement, “Oh, boy!  I wonder what part of me is going to hurt tomorrow!”  Sure enough, the next morning, I get the answer to my question.  “Joy upon joys!  My duodenum is absolutely ruptured!  I don’t think I’ll be able to walk!  I love exercise!”

Mostly, exercise helps me feel that I’m repaying my debt to society.  It’s like I’m punishing myself for every bad thing I’ve ever done.  So far, I’ve atoned through age 6.  That’s when the real evil started.  I should probably be running 20 miles a day.

I have absolutely no idea why I continue to subject myself to such anguish (exercise), but I do it anyway.  It’s becoming a bad habit that causes me such discomfort, then remorse for my poor decisions.  It’s the kind of habit that could destroy me, like not wearing a seat belt, kicking myself in the head, or watching American Idol.  (Paula always seems to be simultaneously on crack cocaine and elephant tranquilizers.)  Even right now, my arms feel like they’re about to fall off, which is strange, because they actually fell off a half hour ago.  Honestly, I’m surprised they’re still typing.  Don’t worry; I wear my seat belt.

Against my better judgment, I went running again tonight.  This time, I waited until the sun went down, so I wouldn’t have to share the track with everyone who moves faster and more gracefully than me (everyone).  I couldn’t see the track 2 feet in front of me, but at least I didn’t have to worry about being lapped by a woman pushing a stroller sipping on a diet chai latte in her designer tracksuit and Coach brand Joss sneakers.  That’s right, ladies.  Men know about Coach and how much that junk actually costs, despite what you tell us.  We just let it slide so we can feel more comfortable stretching the truth when it comes to the actual price of our luxury items.  I’d better just come clean here that my new set of golf clubs did not only cost me “$50 and a childhood memory”.  I feel better already, having gotten that off my conscience.

When I can home, I poured into my living room, congealed up the stairs, melted into this chair, and when I’m done here, I am going to evaporate into the shower for a very long time.  At least until my legs regain enough strength to get me back out again.  If I don’t show up for work, call 9-1-1, and tell them to bring the Jaws of Life.

Most puzzling to me is the hermit who lives beneath the track on which I do my running.  I haven’t found him yet, but I’m positive there’s a crazed man underneath the track (probably under the long jump pit) who slowly extends the track as I run.  By the time I make my 10th time around, the track is three times as long as when I started.  And for some reason unexplainable by me, it’s also completely uphill.  In addition, it also becomes speckled with red flashes and black spots.  Sometimes, the man under the track would entirely black out the track, and I could nary see a thing.  That could also be the blood rushing from my head to my legs in a feeble attempt to keep me upright.  I’m still running the tests.

Well, I guess I’m off for now!  I’ve got a shovel in hand, ready to dig out the hermit (eh, close enough) from beneath the long jump sandpit.  I’ll quit when I either find him, or the police are dragging me away in handcuffs, screaming, “I know where you live!  You can’t hide from me forever!”  I don’t know why, but that’s always what I’m screaming when I’m taken away in handcuffs.  Funny coincidence, that one.

Until next time, my friends, be safe.

And beware of track hermits.

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  1. sociopathicfugitiveanonymous
    April 11, 2009 at 8:06 am

    i actually met the track hermitt…. he says he doesnt like you

  2. sociopathicfugitiveanonymous
    April 11, 2009 at 8:06 am

    something about you smelling funny so he tries to keep you as far away from him as possible

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