Fine. It wasn’t the devil. It was some soccer mom about four treadmills down from me. But I totally outworked her. Yeah boy.
Those who have read more than a post or two on this little blog may have noticed my prediliction toward malaise, particularly in these dark times which I’ll call “autumn 08”. In this funk, I turned my attention to the masturbatory practice of self improvement via the local gym.
It’s a swank place, all new and polished. There are individual showers with frosted glass doors and hella-slippery tiles. The showerheads are big square jobs which spray directly down. The urinals are objets d’art and the locker room doesn’t smell like, well, a locker room. It’s also the most conveniently located gym for me and the prices are exactly the same as the rest of the local pickings.
I’ve been pretty regular about punishing myself with weights three or four times per week, and now I’ve finally conceded that some cardio would do me good. It’s too cold to run outdoors so I subjected myself to the torture of the treadmill.
I don’t like these things. Mostly because I hate the seasick feeling that immediatly follows or how I nearly fall every time I wipe the sweat from my face. And I forgot my headphones today, which meant I was able to watch tv (college basketball on ESPN) with no sound. Could have been worse. So tonight I ran 40 minutes…just under 3.5 miles. A very easy pace, you say? Well piss off, Rome wasn’t built in a fortnight and neither am I. Sorry, sorry, I’m a couple drinks in the can and ready for bed.
The whole point of this blog post is as follows: nothing has ever helped my malaise/funk/mild depression nearly as well as regular exercise. I’m amazed how effective this is. I look forward to going, I enjoy being there, and afterwards I feel like I was dipped ass-first in seratonin.
None of this changes the fact that I haven’t got a shot for tomorrow’s SAPCC. Balls to that. I need to find some grime tomorrow morning.